Love's Fealty
by Riventhorn
Summary: Merlin has been forced to flee Camelot--will he and Arthur still be able to fulfill their destiny? Sequel to "Enough for Now" and "Broken." Merlin/Arthur
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **No copyright infringement intended; no profit is being made from this

**Notes: **This is the third story in an arc that begins with "Enough for Now" and "Broken." Both can be found on my author's page.

**Love's Fealty: Chapter One**

Arthur stared out over the battlements, past the muddy streets below him, out into the forest whose bare branches were just beginning to boast a dusting of new green leaves.

"Where are you, Merlin?" he whispered.

"My Lord?"

He turned. Gwen was standing there. "The King requests your presence," she went on.

Arthur bit back a sigh. "I'll be there in a moment." He turned his gaze back to the silent forest.

Gwen stepped closer. "I miss him, too," she said softly. "Do you think he's all right?"

"He's fine." _He has to be. _

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Merlin poked the fire with a stick and huddled closer, trying to get warm. His stomach growled, reminding him that it had been hours since he'd eaten. He tried to ignore the pangs of hunger. He'd no money and there was little to find to eat in the forest, with the last of the winter snows still melting away. He was terrible at hunting—not like Arthur.

Arthur. Hardly an hour passed that he didn't think of him, wondering what he was doing, if he was all right. The nights were the worst—curled up on the hard ground or, if he was lucky, in the straw of a stable he had managed to sneak into. All he could do was wrap his arms around himself, missing Arthur's touch, the warmth of his presence.

He hadn't dared return to his mother's village when he fled the castle—he was sure Uther would search for him there. But he hadn't been able to leave the kingdom, either. Even now, a hard day's ride would carry him within sight of Camelot's walls. Or it would if he still had a horse. Merlin scrubbed a hand across his face. The horse had been stolen shortly after he had escaped, when weariness had at last overridden his despair, and he had fallen asleep, huddled under a thicket. Thankfully, he'd kept the bags of food and blankets next to him, and the thief hadn't dared come close enough to take those, too.

The food had run out quickly, however. And Arthur hadn't thought to include any money. Why would he? He'd never had to worry about money or having enough to eat. Merlin had come up with a few choice phrases to communicate the depth of Arthur's ignorance when they were reunited. After he'd kissed Arthur so thoroughly he couldn't see straight, of course.

When they were reunited. Not when—if. If they were reunited. Every day that passed made it less likely, not more. What was he going to do? Hang about the woods, finding occasional odd jobs in nearby villages in return for some food or resorting to stealing when the villagers treated him with suspicion, as he'd been doing for the past few months? Waiting until Arthur became king—how many years would that take? And when Arthur did become king—what then? Arthur might not care about him anymore—might have forgotten all about him. Merlin had just been a servant, after all.

He told himself that wasn't true. That Arthur loved him. Arthur had set him free, sworn that his magic didn't matter, that it changed nothing between them. He thought of Arthur's face, broken and forlorn, as he'd ridden away. But doubts plagued him. What if Arthur had changed his mind—decided that he didn't want Merlin, tainted with magic as he was? What if he returned only to be greeted with cold words and sent back into exile?

No—no, that wouldn't happen. He would wait here—no matter how long it took. Close by, in case Arthur needed him.

He stumbled across an isolated farmhouse that afternoon as he trudged through the forest. After hesitating for a few moments, he made his way across the yard. A few sheep were out in their pen, and he could smell smoke from a fire. He knocked on the door. An older man with graying hair and rough clothes opened it. Merlin could see a woman behind him, bending over a kettle on the fire.

"What do you want?" the man said, voice thick with suspicion.

"I was wondering if you had any work that needed doing," Merlin said, trying to surreptitiously brush some of the dirt off his jacket. He knew he looked rather desperate—unwashed, unshaven, clothes filthy.

"And if I did?" the man said slowly.

"I'd do it—in return for some food. Perhaps I could stay in your barn overnight."

The woman had come over to join her husband. "Always need more wood chopped," she said.

"Aye—true enough." The man nodded. "Very well—the axe is leaning against the fence over there."

"Thank you," Merlin said quickly and hurried off to the woodpile before they could change their minds.

The man stood on the doorstep watching him for awhile but eventually went back into the house. Merlin worked steadily. He found himself thinking of his village, the many afternoons he'd spent chopping wood there—and the times he'd slipped away, risking his mother's scolding, to wander into the hills and dream of adventure. Sometimes Will had joined him, but more often he had been alone. He could never resist doing magic, then, despite the danger. And the unfairness of it all had burned within him—that he had to hide his magic when he could have done such wonderful things with it, when he wanted to learn about his powers, talk with someone who understood. His mother had listened and sympathized, of course, much as Gaius did, but neither of them could truly understand his feelings—the way the magic pulled and tugged at him, begging to be used.

The afternoon slipped by, the shadows cast by the pale spring sun lengthening. Merlin's arms grew sore, but he kept at it, reminding himself that a supper was hopefully waiting for him. At last he heard the door open, and the farmer stepped out. "Come and get some food, boy," he called.

Merlin stopped, wearily carrying the last logs over to the woodpile and stacking them with the others he had cut. When he entered the farmhouse the smell of onions, simmering in the pottage on the fire, surrounded him, making his mouth water.

"You can wash up there," the woman said, gesturing at a bowl of water and a piece of clean linen.

Merlin scrubbed his hands and face, and then joined the farmer and his wife at the table. A bowl of pottage, some bread, and a wedge of cheese had been set out for him. Merlin tried not to inhale his food, with limited success.

"You look half-starved," the woman commented, and she ladled a second helping into his bowl. Merlin gave her a grateful smile.

Her husband still seemed suspicious. "What are you doing out here anyway?" he asked. "We usually don't see any travelers this far from the main road."

"I got lost," Merlin said. "My horse was stolen. I was heading for Camelot."

"Well, you'll want to head east tomorrow—that'll bring you to the road."

"And tonight?" Merlin asked, holding his breath.

The farmer nodded, somewhat grudgingly. "Aye, you can stay in the barn."

Merlin sighed with relief—he really hadn't wanted to spend yet another night freezing out in the woods. The farmer's wife even gave him a thick blanket as he left the house. Dusk had fallen, the smell of wet earth sharp in the cold air. Merlin was just opening the latch on the barn door when the voice spoke.

_Merlin._

He whirled around. The yard was empty.

_Merlin._

The voice was in his mind, he realized. Like when the dragon had spoken to him—or Mordred.

_Who are you? _he asked.

There was no reply, but he felt something—a presence beckoning to him. Like a light, shining through the trees, he could feel the power of whoever—or whatever—it was. He felt drawn to it. Slowly he began walking away from the barn, out into the deeper shadows under the trees. At the edge of the forest, he paused, hesitating.

_Merlin._

The power pulled him forward, his feet stumbling over hidden roots and stones. Suddenly, a great wind came up and with it a gust of snow. Merlin threw his arm up over his eyes. When he lowered it, blinking against the snowflakes, a cloaked figure stood in front of him.

A spell leaped into his mind, and he raised his hand, preparing to unleash a surge of force that would send the figure hurtling through the air. But the voice spoke again.

_Don't be afraid. _And his hand fell limply to his side.

The figure lowered the hood of the cloak. It was a woman. She stepped closer, and Merlin backed away. "Who are you?" he said.

"My name is Brisen." She smiled. "I have been looking for you."

"For me?"

"Yes. I felt your power some days ago and guessed that it was you."

"How do you know who I am?"

Brisen lifted her hand, and the snow stopped as suddenly as it had begun. "Nimueh spoke to me of you."

Nimueh. The magic flared through Merlin, coursing alongside the fear and anger that name inspired. "Leave me alone! Or I'll kill you, too!"

"I mean you no harm."

"Why should I believe you?" Merlin demanded, the spell still hovering on his lips. "Nimueh lied easily enough."

Brisen sighed. "I said I had spoken with Nimueh—not that I agreed with her actions."

"So you say."

"I will not harm you," Brisen repeated. "In fact, I wish to help you."

"Help me?" Merlin didn't bother to hide the disbelief in his voice.

Brisen nodded. "Or do you deny that you are tired and cold, wandering alone, fleeing those who would see you dead?"

"What I am about is my own business."

"All I wish is to offer you a place to stay, safe and warm. I will even speak with you about the magic."

Merlin whispered a spell, and the snowstorm roared back to life. "I don't need help," he said loudly, over the wind.

Brisen inclined her head, and after a moment, Merlin let the storm subside.

"Then I offer friendship, only," Brisen said. "I have spent many years here—alone," she added softly.

"You fled Camelot, then?"

"Yes. Long ago, when Prince Arthur was still a baby. But unlike Nimueh, I do not wish to exact revenge on Uther. No," she said, shaking her head, "I only hope to live out the rest of my days peacefully. But I would like to help you, Merlin, if you will let me."

Merlin hesitated. Brisen seemed sincere, the smile on her face genuine. But she had been a friend of Nimueh's, and Merlin had learned the perils of trusting her.

"Come, Merlin. I swear that you can leave anytime that you wish." Brisen held out her hand.

Merlin remained still.

Brisen sighed. "Very well. I will leave you, then." She turned and began walking away.

"Wait!" Merlin called out. Brisen stopped and glanced at him over her shoulder. Fear warred with hope in Merlin's mind—hope that perhaps he had finally found an ally, a fellow magic user who did not wish to do harm. The lure of a warm sanctuary, a haven from the cold and the dark, was strong as well. "I'll come with you," Merlin finally said.

"Good." The smile returned to Brisen's face. "My home is not far. Come." She began walking again, and Merlin followed. Brisen did not speak, but Merlin noticed that tree branches lifted into the air as she approached, clearing the path before her.

Brisen's home turned out to be a small wooden hut, built in a copse of pine trees. At first the only light came from the dying embers of the fire, but Brisen spoke and the fire leaped up with renewed vigor and many candles sprang into flame. The hut was cluttered—rolls of parchment piled on the table, dried herbs hanging from the rafters, various potions lined up on the shelves. It reminded Merlin, in a comforting sort of way, of Gaius's chambers.

Brisen removed her cloak and placed some more wood on the fire. Merlin studied her, able to make out her features now. She had brown hair streaked with gray and wore a simple linen dress.

"Sit down, Merlin," she said. "Let me get you something to drink. And I doubt you'd say no to a second supper either."

Merlin lowered himself into a chair. "Um, no, I wouldn't. Thank you."

"Simple fare, I'm afraid—my winter stores are running rather low. Not what you're used to in Camelot."

"I'm only Prince Arthur's servant," Merlin said. "No roasted boar or pheasants for the likes of us." Which wasn't strictly true—several times, during those short, wonderful months that they had been lovers, Arthur had dined in his room and invited Merlin to join him. Arthur had urged Merlin to sample various dishes, trying to hide a smile at the rapturous sounds Merlin couldn't help making, as the taste of meat and fish, flavored with exotic spices, swirled on his tongue.

"Only a servant?" Brisen raised her eyebrows. "Don't be modest, Merlin. I know you were much more to Arthur."

"I have saved his life a few times," Merlin muttered, trying not to blush and give away the fact that he had, indeed, been much more than a servant.

"More than a few. Or so Nimueh told me."

Nimueh again. "How did you communicate with her?" Merlin asked, his suspicions reawakened. "Could you talk to her in your mind?"

Brisen shook her head. "Not over so great a distance. We used a scrying glass. Here, I'll show you."

She led Merlin into the only other room in the cottage, separated off by a curtain. Her bed was there, along with a heavy wooden trunk. A silver bowl rested on the small table by the bedside. It looked out of place—too rich and fine for such humble surroundings.

Brisen poured some water into the bowl. "Nimueh and I spoke to each other with this. It can also be used to see far away."

"What can you see? Anything?"

"No—it must be something you are familiar with, that you can picture in your mind. Without such a focus, you may see strange things—visions of the future that are difficult to understand. It works best when you feel strong emotions in connection with your viewing."

Excitement surged through Merlin. If he could use it to see Arthur—to make sure he was all right. To see him again— "May I try?"

Brisen smiled. "Of course. Come sit here on the bed." Merlin did so, bending over the bowl. His breath stirred the water. "Now, picture what it is you wish to see."

He thought of Arthur. He should be in his chambers at this hour, perhaps sitting in front of the fire, leaning his head on his hand and staring into the flames. Merlin had seen him like that so many times as he moved softly around the room, putting things away, turning down Arthur's bed. Well, trying to move softly—too often he had dropped something, earning a sharp reprimand and disgusted look. But later—before things had fallen apart—Arthur would more often withdraw from his reverie and look at him and smile. And he would go over to Arthur and kneel next to him. Arthur would draw his fingers through Merlin's hair, and then slide down to the floor, pulling Merlin into his arms.

Just thinking about it made Merlin's chest ache with sorrow, not knowing how long it would be before he felt Arthur's arms around him again. But with the sorrow came the familiar flare of magic, and he knew his eyes shone golden. The water in the bowl trembled, and then suddenly a vivid picture sprang into life on its surface.

It was Arthur—Merlin almost cried his name out loud. But Arthur wasn't sitting in his chair; he was striding back and forth. His mouth moved—he was shouting angrily at someone—but Merlin couldn't hear what he said. Arthur gestured sharply, and then turned and went to the window, crossing his arms over his chest. Whoever had been in the room with him had apparently left. Arthur's face was partly in shadow, but Merlin could see enough to know that Arthur was furious—and, beneath the anger, unhappy. Arthur needed him—he _had _to go back to him—he—

The vision vanished abruptly. "It takes practice to maintain the connection," Brisen said in a soft voice. She went back into the other room. Merlin stayed for a moment longer, composing himself, before following. They sat at the table again, but silence stretched between them for many long minutes.

"You and the Prince were more than just friends," Brisen finally said.

Merlin shut his eyes. "Is it that obvious?"

"I can tell you care for him deeply," she replied gently.

"I love him," Merlin said, voice choked with unshed tears. "Why didn't I tell him? Why didn't I tell him I could use magic? If I had—maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"You were afraid. And with good reason."

"I know—I was afraid." Merlin sighed. "I didn't even tell Morgana."

"She is the king's ward, correct? And why would you tell her?"

"She can do magic, too. She can't control it very well, but she has prophetic dreams. They're terrifying for her." Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face. "I should have told her—maybe she would have felt less alone."

"Nothing can come of dwelling on the past." Brisen smiled sadly. "Don't I know it? How many hours have I spent, thinking back on those last days—wondering if I could have changed Nimueh's mind. I told Nimueh that it was too dangerous, too uncertain, but she refused to listen. She and Igraine were great friends."

Merlin frowned, confused. "Arthur's mother? What does she have to do with it?"

"I didn't think Uther would have spoken of it," Brisen said, nodding her head. "It appears Gaius held his tongue as well."

"Gaius?"

"Yes. He was the only other one who knew. Igraine was barren, you see. She wanted a child so badly—as did Uther. Igraine begged Nimueh to help her, to use magic to help her conceive."

Merlin felt a horrible certainty settle over him. "But when a life is created—"

"—another must be taken in its place," Brisen finished. "Yes. Nimueh knew this, but she thought she could control the magic, could determine which life was given up in return."

"She did control it," Merlin said bitterly. "She almost took my mother's life."

"Her powers had grown much over the years. At the time, she was not strong enough. Arthur was born, and Igraine died. Uther was mad with grief. He swore to destroy the magic that had taken the life of his beloved wife."

"And Arthur doesn't know," Merlin whispered.

"No. Imagine the effect such knowledge would have—that your father hated and destroyed the very thing that gave you life, that is intimately bound to you."

"He would be devastated." Merlin shut his eyes again. _Please—please keep him from harm, until I can return to his side._

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his hands. He felt exhausted. He'd lost his temper with his new servant—shouting at him until the poor man looked ready to faint. It had been nothing—tepid bathwater instead of the hot steam Arthur wanted to sink into—but after the earlier events of the day—

"We've found where the druids have been hiding," Uther had said, looking up from the map he was studying as Arthur walked into the room. "I want you to take an expedition to burn them out—a substantial force, this time. Set the forest on fire if you have to, but I want them dead."

Uther had pursued his quest to destroy magic with redoubled fury over the past few months. The discovery that Merlin, a sorcerer, had managed to escape detection for so long had galvanized Uther into a flurry of action. He expected Arthur to carry out his commands. But all Arthur could think of was that if magic hadn't made Merlin evil, why did it make others so? If he had been willing to set Merlin free, shouldn't he be equally merciful and understanding to others?

And now his father wanted him to go destroy the druids. Arthur had gripped the edge of the table. What if Merlin was there? What if Merlin had gone into hiding with them?

"Is this necessary?" he had asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "The druids are doing nothing to harm Camelot."

"We do not know what they might be planning!" Uther had exclaimed. "We must keep our people safe, Arthur. How can we ignore this threat?"

He wanted to do as his father asked. But—"I cannot go and kill innocent people," he had managed to say, and then turned away quickly before he could see the disappointment and anger on his father's face.

"They are not innocent!" Uther had shouted after him as he left. "You will obey me in this, Arthur!"

Arthur slumped back onto the pillows. What was he going to do? He couldn't disobey his father, his king. But he couldn't do what Uther asked of him, either.

He wanted Merlin back. He wanted Merlin to take him into his arms and whisper that everything would be all right. He needed to look into Merlin's eyes and see Merlin's confidence in him, his faith that Arthur would do the right thing. But Merlin wasn't there. Arthur would have to face this alone.

**Note: **The name Brisen comes from T. H. White's _The Once and Future King_ (it's spelled Brusen in Malory). In the legends, she is Elaine's maidservant, and an enchantress, who helps Elaine trick Lancelot into her bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Merlin spent the night on a pallet in front of the fire. He woke early—couldn't break the habit of rousing in the dim, pre-dawn light as he had in Camelot to fetch Arthur's breakfast and be there when Arthur got out of bed. Trying to fall back asleep didn't work, despite the fact that he was warm and not lying on damp ground out in the forest. His thoughts kept turning to Arthur, which just made him worried and upset.

After several long minutes of staring at the ceiling and wondering what trouble Arthur was getting himself into, how he would get out of it without Merlin's help, and wistfully hoping that Arthur was thinking of him, too, Merlin threw off the covers and struggled to his feet. He built up the fire and then began perusing a few of the spell books Brisen kept in an attempt to think of something else.

"I thought you claimed to be an expert sorcerer," Brisen said upon coming into the room and seeing what Merlin was doing.

Merlin flushed and closed the book hurriedly. "Not really. I always seem to be barely one step ahead of whatever crisis comes along—learning spells and having to make them work seconds later."

"You are welcome to read any of my books," Brisen told him. "And I will repeat my offer to teach you what I know," she added.

"I'd like that, thank you." Merlin watched her put a kettle of water on the fire. "I notice you don't use magic to help with chores."

"No. Magic is a gift that shouldn't be squandered. Besides—if I used magic for everything, I would become as arrogant and lazy as that prince you serve."

"I wouldn't say Arthur is lazy," Merlin objected.

"But arrogant?"

"Well, yes—but he's getting better." Merlin thought of the many times he had used magic to polish Arthur's armor or do the laundry or scrub the floors. "Are you ever tempted to cheat?"

"I think every sorcerer and enchantress has washed the dishes or made the bed with magic a time or two," Brisen said, smiling.

After breakfast, Brisen bade him follow her outside into the forest. "I want to show you a spell, but we need more room," she explained.

Intrigued, Merlin hurried after her. "So are you from Camelot? Or did you travel there?" he asked as they walked.

"I was born in an outlying village. When I realized I could do magic, I went to Camelot, seeking help. At that time, you see, Nimueh openly advised the King. She was only a few years older than I was, but I was quite in awe of her. Powerful, wise—beautiful, too. She and Igraine were accounted the loveliest ladies of the kingdom, and they were fast friends." Brisen stopped, just under the shadows of the trees. "Now, watch closely." She spoke swift words and suddenly a thrush hovered where she had been standing. Merlin started back in surprise. The thrush landed on a branch and trilled a few notes.

"That's wonderful," Merlin said in an admiring tone.

The thrush shook its feathers and then launched itself into the air. As suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished, and Brisen stood before him once more.

"How did you turn back?" Merlin asked.

"The words of a spell are merely a focus—as you yourself know. Have you not been able to do magic naturally since you were a child? A spell is useful when you are first learning to do something, but eventually, when you know how the magic for the spell feels and acts, you no longer need words. When I wanted to resume my human shape, I willed it so—picturing how my body felt and looked."

Brisen repeated the spell more slowly and urged Merlin to try. He did but without success.

"Practice," Brisen said. "Now, I know you can already animate objects, but—"

"How do you know that?" Merlin interrupted.

"Merlin, you are powerful sorcerer—I don't think you realize how powerful. The minute you arrived in Camelot, Nimueh was aware of you. She spent many hours watching you, discovering the extent of your powers."

Merlin shivered at the thought. "That still doesn't explain how you knew—I thought you said you didn't approve of Nimueh's actions. Why would she tell you all about me if you refused to help her?"

Brisen shrugged. "I was lonely, Merlin. Nimueh was the only other enchantress I could speak to. I'm sure she sensed my loneliness and tried to exploit it. And I must admit that I was curious about you."

"So you know all about me, and I've never even heard your name before! Everyone always knows more than I do," Merlin complained. "The dragon could have at least _mentioned _the fact that Nimueh was out there. Preferably before she tried to kill everyone in Camelot."

"The dragon?" Brisen said sharply.

"Yes—the one Uther has chained underneath the castle."

"I thought he had perished in the darkness long ago." Brisen fell silent for a few moments, her face thoughtful.

"I guess Nimueh didn't tell you everything."

"No—not that I am surprised. She was always suspicious—always ready to believe rumors of treachery." A bitter tone had invaded Brisen's voice. "Doubtless she did not wish to inform me of the dragon for fear I might exploit it—to my own advantage and not hers."

"What would you do with a dragon?"

Brisen laughed. "Dragons possess magic hundreds of times more powerful than ours! If the dragon were set free—Uther's pitiful knights would be powerless to stop it."

"I guess it's a good thing you don't want to harm Camelot, then," Merlin said slowly, his doubt over Brisen's intentions renewed.

But she smiled sadly and sighed. "It is indeed. Poor Nimueh! That such power should be turned to evil. Now, let me show you a few summoning spells," she added in a brighter tone, guiding Merlin back to the house.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Arthur lay on his bed, staring blankly at the canopy. He hadn't bothered to get up that morning—what was the point? He'd just have to face his father again and tell him that he hadn't changed his mind. That he wouldn't go in pursuit of the druids. He didn't know what Uther would do then—and wasn't in any particular hurry to find out.

A soft knock on the door, and Morgana stuck her head in. "Arthur?"

"I'm indisposed."

Morgana ignored him and came inside, shutting the door behind her. "I heard what happened yesterday."

Arthur shrugged. "It isn't the first time father and I have disagreed."

"No, but Merlin isn't around to get you out of it this time."

Arthur sat up. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid, Arthur. After finding out about Merlin, and thinking back on your various adventures, I realized he'd been doing far more than we gave him credit for."

"He didn't do _everything_. I'm not completely useless."

"No, but we all need help sometimes." Morgana took a deep breath. "I think I can help you this time, Arthur."

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I can get a message to the druids—warn them that Uther plans to attack. Then you can tell him that you've changed your mind. By the time you reach their camp, the druids will be long gone."

"Send the druids a message? How?"

Morgana closed her eyes for a moment, and then looked straight into Arthur's eyes. "I can use magic. I can talk to the druids in my mind."

Arthur gaped at her. "You—you're a sorcerer, too?" he managed weakly.

"It's hard for me to control the magic, but I suppose you could call me that. When you let Merlin go, I knew—well, hoped—that it would be safe to tell you. But old habits die hard."

"No." Arthur shook his head. "No, this can't be."

"Believe me, I've often wished that myself." Morgana sighed. "But it's true. All of my dreams—I was seeing the future, Arthur. And now, the magic is manifesting itself in other ways."

Arthur flopped back onto the pillows. "How have I been so blind?" he groaned. "Two of the closest people to me can use magic and I don't realize it! Please don't tell me Gwen is a sorcerer, too."

"Not that I know of," Morgana said, sounding amused.

"But—my father—"

"I know." Morgana looked down at her hands, twisted in the silken folds of her dress. "You—you won't tell him, will you?" Her voice sank to a whisper. "Arthur?"

Arthur fumbled for one of her hands. "No."

Morgana smiled in relief. "Thank you. Gwen said I could trust you."

"You've told her?"

"Yes—I couldn't keep it a secret from her for much longer, anyway, but I knew she would never betray me."

"Neither will I." Arthur sighed. "How many times haven't I cursed myself for telling father about Merlin? If I hadn't—" _He could have stayed, could still be here. _

Morgana squeezed his hand in silent sympathy.

Arthur took a deep breath. "You'll really do this—warn the druids? If my father finds out—"

Morgana's face grew colder, determined. "I will not let him turn me into a coward."

"He's just doing what he thinks is best for Camelot."

"Best for Camelot!" Morgana laughed derisively. "What has his quest to destroy magic done but brought new enemies to Camelot and driven away potential friends, such as the druids? Not to mention the people he has executed—unjustly."

Arthur gripped her arm. "I won't have you speak of our King like that!"

Morgana glared at him. "You agree with me."

"I—I don't think everything he has done was right, but—" Arthur trailed off. "A king has to make difficult decisions," he said at last. "Sometimes all courses run astray."

"A king shouldn't rule through fear," Morgana said bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said. "That you've had to be afraid."

"Merlin didn't even confide in me. And I'm sure he must have known." Morgana took a deep breath and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. "Never mind this. What do you think of my plan?"

"How much time do you need to contact the druids?"

"I will announce that I am going to visit Baron Lydgate and his wife. Their holding is near the druid's camp. I should be able to draw close enough to contact them. I can leave by tomorrow."

Arthur nodded. "Then I'll go tell my father. I can delay at least a few days in putting together an expedition."

Morgana stood up, but Arthur put his hand on her arm, stopping her. "Thank you, Morgana. I didn't know what I was going to do."

Morgana smiled. "You're welcome. And when Merlin returns, I won't tell him how completely lost you are without him, either. He'd never let you live it down."

Arthur threw a pillow at her, but once she had left, he let his shoulders sag. He stared disconsolately around the room—the empty room. No Merlin polishing his armor and complaining about it; no Merlin trying to sweep the hearth and only succeeding in sending ashes flying all over the room. No Merlin lying next to him in the bed, tousled from sleep, lazily smiling up at Arthur.

"I am lost without you," Arthur whispered.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Brisen stood at the window, watching Merlin. He had taken one of her spell books outside and was sitting in a patch of sun, lost in its pages. Occasionally his lips moved as he silently practiced a spell.

Her hands curled into fists. Curse Nimueh! If she had only waited, held her patience a little longer—but no, first she sent the avank and then tried to take out her spite on Merlin when he ruined her plot. She always had been unable to hold her temper.

"We've waited this long—what are a few years more?"Brisen had asked, when Nimueh revealed her plans to poison Camelot's water supply.

"Uther deserves to suffer," Nimueh had hissed back.

Uther—what did he matter? He was simply a fool—cruel and spiteful, true, but a fool for all that. Oh, she would have been happy to see him dead—a slow, tormented death, like all those he had burned for witchcraft—but that would merely have been revenge, not victory.

No, Nimueh's attempts to hurt Camelot, to kill Uther had only succeeded in confirming Uther's stand against magic, his insistence that magic was evil. Brisen hadn't lied to Merlin when she said she didn't want to harm Camelot. She wanted Camelot whole and strong. When Uther began his reign of terror against magic, she and Nimueh had vowed that one day they would gain control of the kingdom. After all, who had more right to rule? A mere man or a magic user, one who could bend the forces of nature, of time, to his or her will? No one could stand against such a ruler—all the kingdoms could be unified and the petty squabbling between them stopped. Peace would prevail.

But such a goal could not be achieved through force. That would only terrorize the people of Camelot, the very people they hoped to protect from Uther's madness. She and Nimueh had agreed that the best way to achieve their ends was through Uther's son. If Arthur could be won to their side, they could guide his actions. And if, once his trust was gained, he proved recalcitrant—well, there were spells to remedy that. Arthur could always meet with a tragic accident—after naming one of them as his regent, of course.

And then, like a gift from the gods, the perfect tool to accomplish all this had walked into Camelot—Merlin. He had gained Arthur's confidence, a position close to Arthur. And Merlin had every reason to sympathize with her and Nimueh—a fellow magic user forced to hide what he was.

But Nimueh had ruined it! Caught up in her own schemes of revenge, she had overthrown their careful plans. She had tried to kill Merlin and when that failed had tricked him, lied to him, and completely destroyed any possibility that Merlin might trust her.

Brisen narrowed her eyes. But now, by luck—if luck one called it—she had been given another chance. Merlin had wandered right into her grasp. She had managed to quiet his suspicions by giving him what he craved—knowledge and encouragement. She was confident that she would be able to keep his trust until she no longer needed him.

For Brisen could see now that Merlin would never agree to any plan that involved the potential of harming Arthur. He was too besotted with the prince—obviously thought Arthur would be a great king. As though any Pendragon could be trusted!

But Merlin was not completely useless. He had already given her valuable information—information that Nimueh had either withheld or not known herself. The dragon was still alive—alive and angry—and Uther's ward, Morgana, could use magic as well. Brisen smiled. She should be able to make good use of both of them.

She would wait a little longer—wheedle every scrap of information out of Merlin that she could. And then she would act. Leave this cramped, miserable hovel and return to Camelot where she belonged. And Merlin—well, he must _not _be allowed to return.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Arthur twisted the glass of wine in his fingers, staring into the dark liquid. Morgana sat across from him. Her face was impassive, but Arthur knew she was furious. As was Uther. Arthur could practically feel the anger radiating from his father. He kept his gaze fixed on his wine.

He and Morgana had both returned to Camelot that evening. They had met on the road, Morgana returning from her visit to Baron Lydgate, and Arthur from his expedition to hunt out the druids.

"It appears your trip was unsuccessful," Morgana had said, observing the empty-handed and disgruntled soldiers who had just spent the past few days clambering around the forest.

"I'm afraid so," Arthur had replied. He could see the laughter in her eyes.

Uther raged on about Arthur's failure to find the druids, of course. But Arthur had faced his father's tirades many times before. It would have been fine, but Morgana had to speak up. Had to say that she thought Uther's pursuit of the druids was wrong. And that, of course, had pushed Uther over the edge.

"You're not going anywhere until you apologize," Uther had growled. "None of us are," he added, as Arthur started to rise. So they were sitting here, until Morgana apologized, which wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.

Arthur smothered a sigh and shifted his attention to the pitcher of wine on the table, preparing to spend the next half hour memorizing its shape and imperfections. It took him a second to realize that the pitcher was levitating an inch above the table. He barely stopped an exclamation of shock from escaping. He looked up at Morgana.

Her face had gone white, her expression terrified. The pitcher jerked and rose another inch or two. Arthur risked a glance at his father. Thankfully, Uther was staring at the table and hadn't noticed anything—yet.

_Stop it_, he mouthed silently to Morgana.

She shook her head. _I can't. _

Arthur reached out and grabbed the pitcher, spilling wine all over the tablecloth.

"Are you drunk, Arthur?" Uther snapped, looking up.

Morgana's eyes were shut tightly, her hands shaking. To his horror, Arthur saw one of the empty platters begin to rise into the air. He snatched at it, forcing it back to the table with a clatter. "Clean this up!" he shouted to one of the servants standing against the wall. Arthur piled empty plates and goblets into the startled man's arms, his only thought to get anything moveable off the table.

"You are drunk," Uther said, sounding disgusted. He stood up. "Go to your chambers—both of you. We'll continue this discussion later." He left the hall, cape snapping behind him.

Morgana gasped and collapsed in her chair.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, going to her side.

She shook her head, tears spilling down her face. "I couldn't—couldn't stop."

"Come on, I'll get you to your room." Arthur helped her stand, and they slowly made their way through the hallways.

Gwen met them at the door to Morgana's chamber. "My lady, what's wrong?" she exclaimed upon seeing Morgana's tear-streaked face.

Arthur let Gwen take over and guide Morgana over to her bed. "It was her magic," he said, relieved that Morgana had told Gwen, and they didn't have to come up with some excuse. He wondered how Merlin had managed to come up with so many cover stories—some of them patently ridiculous in retrospect. He stopped that train of thought quickly. He was trying to avoid thinking about Merlin as it merely made him feel angry and sad without being able to do anything about it.

Morgana spoke, voice trembling. "Uther was sitting right there, and I couldn't control it."

"But he didn't notice?"

"No." Morgana laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't be sitting here if he had. I'd be in the dungeon—waiting to be executed."

"He wouldn't do that," Arthur said, although his voice lacked conviction.

"He would and you know it," Morgana retorted. "What am I going to do? It's only a matter of time before he discovers what I am!"

"That won't happen," Gwen said. "You'll learn to control the magic."

"And what if I don't?"

"You will." Gwen put her arms around Morgana. "If only there was someone who could teach you."

"Like Merlin," Arthur said, without thinking. Just saying his name conjured the memory of Merlin wrapped in his arms.

"But he's abandoned us, hasn't he?" Morgana said, her voice muffled against Gwen's shoulder.

"He didn't abandon us! He had no choice but to leave." Arthur tried to squash the question that followed—_will he ever return? _Merlin would come back—had to come back. He had promised to return when Arthur became king.

Morgana reached out and grabbed Arthur's arm. "But he shouldn't have had to leave! I shouldn't have to be afraid every second of every day! I'm tired of this, Arthur—and your father refuses to listen to reason."

"I know. I'm sorry. But…" Arthur trailed off.

"How long can we keep up these pretences?" Morgana persisted. "What are you going to do, Arthur, the next time your father orders some poor peasant executed for practicing a few harmless charms? What will you do if he orders _me _executed?"

Arthur pried Morgana's fingers off his arm. "Get some rest, Morgana. You're overwrought."

"So that's your solution, then?" Morgana cried after him as he went to the door. "Just ignore it and hope that it goes away? Well it isn't going to disappear, Arthur. Magic is a part of Camelot—a part of your people! What about Merlin?"

"What about him?" Arthur said, hand on the door.

"You were friends—more than friends judging by the way you looked at each other, even though you've never come right out and said it. You claim he didn't abandon us, and perhaps that's true—perhaps you abandoned him."

Arthur turned to face her. "I saved his life!"

"You tossed him out of Camelot in the middle of winter—sent him off to make his way as best he could! He might have starved, frozen to death!"

"What else could I have done?" Arthur shouted back.

"You could have stood up to Uther!"

"You know he wouldn't have listened. He's the king. I can't make him do anything!"

"Then maybe he shouldn't be king anymore." Morgana's face closed down as soon as she said it, the flush of anger fading, leaving her pale, lips pressed tightly together.

Arthur stared at her for a long moment. "You will never so much as _mention _that again," he said at last, his voice as cold as Morgana's face. Her stare wavered, and she looked down at her hands, clasped tightly together. Gwen, who had been sitting silently, trying to appear unobtrusive during the shouting, put a hesitant arm back around Morgana's shoulders.

Arthur sighed. "It will be all right, Morgana. I promise."

She didn't look up. After a moment, he went out, shutting the door behind him.

He waited in the hallway until Gwen appeared. "Is she asleep?"

Gwen nodded. "Hopefully she won't have any dreams tonight. She didn't mean it—about the King. She would never do something like that."

"I know." Arthur leaned against the wall. He felt exhausted.

"I could tell that something was wrong." Gwen said. "And then when she told me—I think she couldn't bear having to keep her magic secret from everyone any longer. She felt so alone. And after my father, and Merlin, and now her…" a sob broke Gwen's voice.

Arthur put his hand on her shoulder.

Gwen tried to smile, wiping away the tears. After a moment, she said, "Were you—I mean, I knew how Merlin felt—about you, that is—but I didn't know—"

"Yes." Arthur shut his eyes.

"I thought so. I thought he seemed happier—before. Not that I think it's your fault," she added quickly. "And I'm sure Merlin didn't, either. Or Morgana. She was just upset."

Arthur forced his eyes open and shoved away from the wall. "Well, he's gone now. So it doesn't matter."

"Don't say that," Gwen pleaded. "He'll come back. I know he will."

"Maybe he shouldn't—nothing could have come of it anyway. He was a servant."

"Does that matter?"

_Yes_, Arthur started to say, _Of course it does. _But—"When I'm king—" He stopped again. _When I'm king. _The thought terrified him in so many ways—the responsibility, the decisions that would have to be made, the way everyone would look at him and expect him to have the answers. And it would mean his father would be dead. Despite everything, he couldn't bear that thought, either.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

By the end of a fortnight, Merlin knew more about magic than he had dreamed possible. Not just spells, although Brisen had taught him many of those, but about the long, twilight history of magic itself. Brisen told him tales, all filled with sorcerers who had discovered their powers and struggled to decide how those powers should be used—just like he had. It was like finding a family that he hadn't known he possessed.

Brisen seemed to sense some of his feelings. "You must have felt very isolated—both in your village and in Camelot," she said one afternoon. They were sitting by the fire—the spring air still chilly—and Brisen had enchanted a pair of needles to mend a rip in Merlin's tunic. He had been trying to change into a bird again but had only succeeded in landing himself halfway up a fir tree, tangled in the branches and quite human.

Merlin didn't reply immediately. "I thought you said you never used magic for chores," he said instead.

"I'm hopeless at sewing," Brisen admitted. "Perhaps I cheat a bit more than I let on the other day."

Merlin smiled. After a moment he went on, "I was lonely. Well, not lonely exactly—I mean, I had Gwen and Gaius and—and Arthur. But I always had to hide, always had to be careful." It had been wonderful, these past days that he had spent with Brisen, to finally be able to use his magic whenever he wanted. He felt rested and relaxed; his magic no longer aching inside him, no longer having to force it to stay quiet. "Even Gaius—" Merlin stopped.

"Yes?" Brisen tilted her head to regard him. "What about Gaius?"

Merlin shifted in his chair. "I don't want to sound ungrateful. He helped me so much—taught me so much—but…" Merlin sighed. "He always cautioned me not to use magic unless it was absolutely necessary. And all I wanted was to—to—"

"Gaius was not born with magic, as you were," Brisen said. "He learned a few spells—could probably have become a fairly competent sorcerer if things had gone differently. But he couldn't guess how it feels to have the magic inside you."

"I miss him, though." Merlin watched the flames dancing over the logs. "I hope he's all right."

"I'm sure he is. This Guinevere—from what you have told me of her, it sounds as though she would look after Gaius."

"Yes—Gwen would do that."

"No need to worry, then."

"But who knows how long it will be until I see them again," Merlin said, refusing to be comforted. "When Arthur becomes king—who knows how long that will take." _And if Arthur will even want me by then_, he added silently.

"Uther cannot live forever."

"He isn't exactly on his last legs, either," Merlin retorted bitterly. "The closest he's come to dying was when Morgana—" he stopped.

"When Morgana…?" Brisen asked.

"She was upset—and rightly so!" Merlin paused but couldn't stop the words from pouring out. "Uther had Gwen's father killed for treason—for consorting with a sorcerer," he went on. "Even though he didn't do so knowingly." Anger rose in Merlin again at the memory. "And Morgana felt Uther could no longer be trusted as king—the way he keeps murdering innocent people. So she tried to have him killed."

"But obviously did not succeed."

"No. I think she had a change of heart at the last moment. Actually saved his life."

"But the idea would remain," Brisen murmured. "As would her reasons—Uther hasn't had a change of heart, after all."

"Look—you won't tell anyone about this, will you?" Merlin asked. "It was Morgana's business—no one else needs to know. I probably shouldn't have said anything."

Brisen put her hand on his arm. "Merlin, who would I tell? Anyway, I think it is good for you to talk about these things instead of having to keep them all to yourself. Knowledge can be a heavy responsibility."

It _was _a relief. He had found himself telling Brisen all about his time in Camelot, relishing the opportunity to speak freely, without having to guard his words or weave stories to hide behind. "Thank you for listening," he said quietly.

Brisen smiled. "Of course. Now, I think your tunic is ready." She ended the spell and handed it to him.

"Thanks. I'll practice in an open field next time."

"A good plan." Brisen stood up. "I'm going to go gather some kindling for the fire. Perhaps you'd enjoy looking at this book on alchemy—I don't believe you've studied it yet."

Merlin took the book but didn't open it after Brisen had left. Instead, he stared blankly at the table, running his fingers along the smooth wood. "When will I see you again, Arthur?" he whispered. "If only I knew—"

He paused. Perhaps there was a way to find out when he would be able to return to Camelot. Standing up, he drew aside the curtain to Brisen's room. The scrying glass still stood there on the table. Merlin hesitated. He hadn't tried to look in it again since that first time—it had been too hard to have to watch Arthur, unable to communicate with him, unable to help him. But perhaps if he didn't focus on anything, but merely let the glass show him what it would—perhaps it would reveal something about the future. He might be given some clue as to when he would be able to return to Camelot.

Quickly, Merlin poured water into the bowl and sat down. He took a deep breath and then leaned over, trying to keep his mind clear. At first, he only saw his own wavering reflection. Then, as suddenly as it had before, the water stilled and a picture appeared.

It was Camelot—he would recognize those towers and walls anywhere—but something had happened. Part of the castle appeared to have collapsed. The gate was a ruined heap of splinters, broken stones littered the ground. The air was filled with smoke, too, and people were dashing around. No sound came to Merlin's ears, but he could tell they were screaming.

The water trembled, and the vision shifted. Merlin couldn't stop a cry escaping from his lips. It was Arthur—Arthur lying crumpled on the floor of his chambers, blood running down his face. He was horribly still. A person stepped into view and with a shock, Merlin realized it was Brisen. Only she wore a fine gown with strands of jewels about her neck, and her face was twisted into an expression of fury.

A hand touched his shoulder. Merlin gasped and jerked away, crashing into the table and sending the scrying glass tumbling to the floor.

"That was foolish of you, Merlin," Brisen said. "Men should be content with the present and not seek to uncover their future."

"You—" Merlin began, but there was a flash of light, and he fell into darkness.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Awareness returned slowly. He was lying on something hard and cold—stone, he guessed. The air smelled musty and dry. He couldn't move his arms or legs. They felt weighted down, too heavy for him to find the energy to lift them. Sluggishly, his eyes blinked open. He stared up at the rocky ceiling of a cave. Shadows were flickering across it—caused by the light of a torch, he realized. He tried to turn his head but failed.

"Can you hear me, Merlin?" Brisen's face moved into his line of sight as she crouched over him.

Merlin struggled to speak and finally managed to force words out of his dry throat. "You lied to me. I _trusted _you."

"And you can trust me, Merlin. You can trust me to do what is right for Camelot." She reached out and smoothed back his hair, ignoring his weak attempts to flinch away from her touch. "I go there now—to end Uther's reign and bring justice and peace back to this kingdom. Don't worry—I shall guide Arthur, teach him how to be a good king."

"No—I saw—you're going to kill him."

Brisen arched an eyebrow. "I hope it will not come to that. But if it does—well, you can see why I must leave you here, Merlin."

Merlin glared at her and summoned his magic. Nothing happened. Horrified, he tried again, tried to speak the words of a spell. But they hovered just out of recollection. He could _feel _his magic there but couldn't reach it.

"A complex enchantment," Brisen commented, seeing the helpless fury in Merlin's eyes. "I wasn't entirely sure it would hold you."

"You swore I could leave whenever I wished," Merlin rasped.

"And so you may—if you can break the spell." Brisen held her hand over his face. "And now, I'm afraid I must send you back to sleep. Perhaps one day I will tell Arthur what truly happened to you, and he can ride to your rescue." She laughed. "Although he may well have forgotten you by then and care little what fate befell a mere servant, even if you did afford him a few momentary pleasures."

Brisen began whispering the words of a spell. Merlin could feel the magic seeping into him, pulling him back down into oblivion. He fought against it, tried to keep his eyes open. But the spell was too strong. As consciousness slipped away once again, his last coherent thought was that he could not fail Arthur—and the choking fear that perhaps he already had.

**Note: ** Obviously, I am borrowing from many of the legends where Nimueh traps Merlin in a cave or some other form of imprisonment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Arthur had been wandering restlessly around the castle all morning and finally found himself at Gaius's chambers. After standing there for a few moments, he knocked on the door. There was no answer, but he pushed it open anyway. The room smelled of salves and potions. Arthur had never liked the smell—probably because it reminded him of the times he had been sick as a child and had to swallow one of the foul tasting concoctions.

He wandered about the room, flipping through the various books on the tables. Eventually, though, he ended up at the bottom of the stairs that led to Merlin's room. He tried to turn away but found his feet carrying him up the stairs, his hand opening the door. The room was tidy—tidier than Merlin had ever kept it—but all of his things were still there. The bed was made and waiting, a fresh candle sitting on the table. Arthur knew that if he opened the cupboard, he would find Merlin's tunics, neatly folded.

"Sire?"

Arthur turned to find Gaius looking up the stairs at him. Clearing his throat, Arthur shut the door.

"Can I help you, Sire?" Gaius asked.

"Oh, yes…um, I—I have a headache."

"Let me get you a potion," Gaius said, going over to a shelf and removing a bottle. He poured out some of its contents into a cup and handed it to Arthur. Arthur took it, swallowed, and grimaced.

"Thank you," he muttered.

Gaius inclined his head. "Of course, your Highness."

Arthur turned the cup over in his hands, slowly set it down on the table. He cleared his throat again but couldn't seem to say what he wanted to.

"Merlin can look after himself," Gaius said quietly. "He's far from helpless."

"Right." Arthur took a deep breath. "Well—I'll let you get back to your work."

Gaius bowed and Arthur went out. He headed for the armory, even though he had a thousand memories of Merlin there, helping him put on his armor—and doing other things as well. He wanted to take his sword and hit something. Hard. Preferably multiple times.

Halfway there, though, Gwen came running up to him, out of breath. "My Lord," she gasped.

"What is it? Is it Morgana?" Arthur asked, alarmed.

Gwen shook her head. "Morgana's fine. A woman arrived at my house a few minutes ago. She says—" Gwen stopped to catch her breath, "—says she has a message from Merlin. I came to find you right away."

Arthur started across the courtyard before she had finished speaking. Gwen hurried after him.

"Did she say if he was all right?" Arthur questioned, threading his way impatiently through the crowded streets.

"No. She just asked me to go find you. I didn't even get her name."

Arthur increased his pace. If anything had happened to Merlin… He banged open the door to Gwen's house. The woman was standing in the middle of the room. She bowed and murmured, "My Lord," as Arthur entered.

"Who are you? What's happened to Merlin?" Arthur demanded.

"Merlin is unharmed," the woman said. "I didn't mean to alarm you. My name is Brisen."

"You've seen Merlin, then?" Gwen asked when Arthur, who had grasped a chair as a dizzy wave of relief swept over him, didn't reply.

"Yes. He stayed at my home for a few days and asked me to bring you a message, telling you that he was all right."

"Did he tell you why he had to leave Camelot?" Arthur asked. It wouldn't do to reveal too much to this woman—not until they knew how much Merlin had told her.

But Brisen nodded. "He also told me that you had saved him." A gentle smile crossed her face. "Not that it surprised me—you truly are Igraine's son."

"You knew my mother?"

"Yes. I was forced to leave Camelot for the same reason that Merlin was."

"So you're an—" Gwen lowered her voice, "—enchantress?"

Brisen nodded again.

Guilt immediately flared up in Arthur. He should arrest her, tell his father. But he already knew that he wouldn't. He pushed it aside. "Merlin—he was really fine?"

"He was a bit hungry, but I solved that problem. He was planning to journey to the south—into Lord Havelok's kingdom—and perhaps farther. I have heard that they take a more forgiving view of magic in those realms."

"Oh." Arthur knew he should feel happy—glad that Merlin had escaped and might find a place where he didn't have to fear for his life. But part of him had imagined—hoped—that Merlin wouldn't really go very far from Camelot. That perhaps he might even sneak back at times to see Arthur. It was a selfish wish, but—

"Did he have any other messages? For me, I mean?"

"No, my Lord. At least, nothing beyond wishing you good health and fortune. To you as well, Guinevere," Brisen added, "and the physician, Gaius."

Arthur turned abruptly and went to look out the small window. So Merlin hadn't had anything to say to him. Not that he expected him to tell this woman, this Brisen, that they were lovers, but he could have added _something_. He couldn't have been mistaken about Merlin's feelings for him. Unless—what if Merlin had just been doing it out of a sense of duty, of obligation? What if he didn't think he could refuse? Merlin had said it was his choice—dammit, Merlin had kissed _him _first—but maybe things had changed. After all, Arthur had thrown him in jail, practically let Merlin be executed—had he completely destroyed Merlin's trust in him? It had all been so rushed, in those last moments when he was trying to get Merlin out, get him to safety. Merlin had said he wouldn't leave, had looked devastated at having to go. But maybe after a few days, after thinking over what had happened…perhaps Merlin's love for him had turned to bitterness, a sense of betrayal.

Brisen was saying something to him. Arthur took a deep breath and turned back around. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I was saying, my Lord, that it is good to be back in Camelot. I have missed it. But I'm afraid it is too dangerous for me to stay here long."

"Of course." Arthur managed a smile. "Thank you for bringing word of Merlin to us. Have a safe journey back to your home." He started to leave, wanting to get back to his chambers so he could shut the door and let go of the detached, competent expression he always had to maintain in public, but Gwen stopped him.

"Arthur, what if she could teach Morgana how to control her magic?" Gwen said in a low voice.

Arthur paused and glanced back at Brisen, who was fastening the ties of her cloak. "But it would be dangerous to take her into the castle. If my father—"

"She could stay here with me," Gwen said quickly. "And Morgana could come here. Morgana must have someone to help her, Sire."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Brisen," he said, and she paused, looking up at him. "We have a request to make of you."

"I would be happy to help in any way I can," she replied.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Arthur strode forward, leaving Kanen sprawled on the ground behind him. "Who did that?" Arthur demanded, his voice harsh. "A wind like that doesn't just appear from nowhere. I know magic when I see it. One of you made that happen."

Will glanced at Merlin. "Arthur," Merlin began, and Arthur turned towards him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and fury. Merlin tried not to shrink away. "I did it." The words dragged haltingly from him. "I can—can use magic."

Arthur's face hardened, and he leveled his sword at Merlin. "Get on your knees," he ordered, and Merlin felt himself fall forward into the mud.

The blade of the sword was cold against his neck. "You'd burn in the flames if I took you back to Camelot," Arthur said.

Merlin looked up at him but there was no pity, no understanding. He tried to say something, to make Arthur understand, but his throat was too tight. Arthur raised his sword.

_No. No, it didn't happen like this. _

Merlin's world lurched. Will had taken an arrow for Arthur, lied and told Arthur that he had conjured the wind. That was what had happened. Not this. He was dreaming, must be dreaming.

He tried to wake up, but only found himself in an empty, dark void. It came to him that he was trapped—there had been a woman. She had betrayed him. And Arthur—Arthur was in danger. He had to escape. But it was hard—hard just to stay like this and not sink back into the dreams—no, nightmares—that he could hear whispering around him, brushing against him. He couldn't—couldn't fight them…

The wind rustled through the grasses on the hilltop, cutting through Merlin's thin shirt. Arthur stood next to him. He had come to find Merlin, to ask him what was wrong, why Merlin was acting so strangely. Merlin stood up, suddenly face to face with Arthur. What could he say? How could he explain with words? So he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Arthur's.

Arthur shoved him away. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed, sounding outraged.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Merlin muttered, face flushed with shame.

"You are my _servant_," Arthur said. "And that's all you'll ever be. Get that through your thick head."

_No. _Awareness fluttered inside him again. Arthur had sought him out, told him he didn't want Merlin to go, had kissed him so gently. He had never said these horrible things. And yet part of Merlin had been afraid that Arthur would reject him. Whatever that woman—Brisen, yes, that was her name—whatever she had done to him, it was bringing all his darkest fears to painful reality. And he couldn't stop it.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Morgana cast a quick look over her shoulder to make sure there were no guards loitering about the street and then ducked inside Gwen's house. Brisen was sitting at the table with her back to the door, and she turned around swiftly but relaxed when she saw who it was.

Morgana smiled at her. She had been wary of Brisen at first, reluctant to trust a stranger with her secret. But Brisen had set her fears at rest. She was patient and understanding. She had shown Morgana that her powers were not something to be afraid of, not some incomprehensible and alien force inside her. She no longer felt so alone, either, for Brisen had gone through the exact same thing—facing death because of what she was. And she had agreed to stay in Camelot, to help Morgana, despite the dangers in doing so. Morgana felt deeply grateful for that. Slowly, Morgana was learning to control her magic and as she did the fears fell away.

"Think of all the wonderful things you will be able to do," Brisen often said. "Magic can be used to heal people, to protect people. You can put it to use for the good of Camelot." Then her voice would falter, and she would add, "Or at least you could, if…"

Morgana had no trouble finishing that thought. If Uther wasn't king. Sometimes she almost wished that—well, that Tauren had killed him, that she hadn't stopped him. Uther had said he was sorry but only for Gwen's father, not the hundreds of others! And he might have lied. Might have said what he knew Morgana wanted to hear. All that talk about valuing her advice! When had he ever taken it? Never. All it took was one hint of magic, and all of Uther's fine words and sentiments vanished in the face of his blind rage.

"You look troubled," Brisen said.

Morgana shook her head. "It's nothing—at least, nothing that hasn't been troubling me for a long while now." She sat down across from Brisen. "You were here in Camelot before Arthur was born, right?"

Brisen sighed. "Yes, although I do not like to be reminded of those days."

"I'm sorry," Morgana said quickly. "I understand how it must be hard to remember. I just—just wondered what Uther was like then, when he first became king."

Brisen looked down at her hands, folded on the table, and didn't reply for a few moments. "He has always been a stern, unyielding man," she said at last. "He needed a strong will, during the wars he fought. You know that, of course, for your father fought alongside him. But he was more…lighthearted then as well."

Morgana must have looked doubtful, for Brisen laughed quietly. "I know, it seems a strange word to apply to Uther. But he laughed and smiled more then. He hadn't been on the throne long, of course, bearing the weight of responsibility that comes with power, but it was more than that—it was Igraine."

"Arthur's mother," Morgana said softly.

Brisen sighed. "She complemented Uther perfectly. Igraine was loving, merciful. She could calm Uther when he lost his temper, convince him to see reason. I'm afraid—" she stopped abruptly.

"Afraid?" Morgana asked, urging her to continue.

"It may sound foolish, but I'm afraid for Arthur," Brisen said. "Although I've only been here a short time, I can see what sort of man he is. He takes after Igraine in many ways, and I know he will make a good king, if only his father does not corrupt him first."

"I don't think you need worry. Arthur has stood up to his father many times in the past."

"But he also seeks to please Uther, is that not so?"

Morgana nodded reluctantly. Arthur often did tread an uneasy middle ground, trying to placate his father while attempting to right whatever injustice Uther was committing. "He's much better than he used to be, though—ever since Merlin came."

"But now Merlin is gone." Brisen shook her head. "I am sure you, too, can see how much Merlin meant to Arthur, even if he does not voice such thoughts aloud."

"He's been miserable since Merlin left," Morgana admitted.

"Without Merlin's support, I fear Arthur will lose the will to contest Uther's decisions. He will follow his father's commands and bury his merciful, caring nature deep within himself. And it is not only Arthur—Uther has sent so many innocents to their deaths. How many more must die while Uther holds the throne?"

Morgana felt a sickening dread creep over her as Brisen spoke. What would Arthur have done when his father ordered him to kill the druids if she hadn't helped? What would Uther do if his son kept refusing to follow his commands? One of them would have to break eventually. If Arthur did, he would become a tyrant, just like his father. And if Uther did—there was no telling what he might do in a fit of rage. "Once—" She stopped, and then went on quickly, "Once I believed—hoped—Uther could change." She met Brisen's eyes. "I don't believe that anymore."

"You agree that something must be done—for Camelot."

Morgana nodded.

"If Uther cannot be made to see reason, then…"

Morgana sat silently for a moment. Did she trust this woman? She glanced at Brisen. Yes—yes, she did trust her. She certainly wouldn't betray Morgana to Uther! And she seemed genuinely concerned for Arthur, perhaps because she had known his mother so well. "It may be time for Arthur to become king," she said at last in a low voice.

Brisen nodded slowly. "There are many ways, of course," she said in a thoughtful tone. "But it would be best to make his death appear natural. No suspicions, no accusations."

Morgana shivered. "Do you know a way?"

"A poison, administered in small doses over a period of time would be best, I think. Uther would fall ill, his condition worsening. When he received the final, fatal dose it would merely be the culmination of his illness, not a sudden death."

"But there is Gaius. He is an excellent physician; I do not think he would be fooled."

"Gaius knows the usual poisons, true, but what about magical ones? Although Gaius studied the magical arts himself at one time, his knowledge is basic, limited." Brisen tapped her fingers against the table. "I know a rather obscure spell that can change any liquid into a deadly poison. A few drops in Uther's wine—a few more in the medicines that Gaius will start to give him—and our task will be accomplished."

Morgana took a deep breath. "Someone close to Uther will need to administer the poison, then."

"Yes."

Morgana nodded. "I will do it."

"Are you sure?" Brisen leaned forward. "You must not proceed unless you are certain."

"I will no longer watch people march to the executioner's block and do nothing." Morgana's hands curled into fists. "I will not live my life in fear. I will not let Uther destroy his son," she finished vehemently.

Brisen reached over and took Morgana's hand. "We are doing the right thing but no one else must know. Not even your maid, Guinevere."

"Of course not. As you say, it will be best if it appears Uther's death is caused by an illness and nothing more."

"Very well." Brisen released her and sat back. "I will prepare the poison. It will be ready the next time you come visit." She paused. "You have not had any dreams lately?"

Morgana shook her head. "No. Why? Do you think I should have foreseen Uther's death?"

Brisen raised her hand. "His death is not a foregone conclusion. He has cheated death too many times before for me to invest our plan with any certainty. But no, there is no reason you should have foreseen anything. I do not have the seer's power but from the little I know, it is a fickle gift that comes at times of its own choosing."

"Lovely," Morgana muttered. "I've spent half my life plagued by nightmares but when I actually want the dreams, they refuse to come." She looked steadily at Brisen. "But this time, I do not need dreams to know the future. Uther will die. And Arthur will become the greatest king that Camelot has ever had." A smile flickered over her face. "He is like a brother to me, you know."

"You do this for him."

"Yes." Morgana shut her eyes. She could still picture it perfectly, the first time she had seen Arthur. She had arrived in Camelot, sad and frightened after her father died. Arthur had been standing there beside his father, trying to match Uther's upright, solemn demeanor. He had stepped forward—she had never been sure if it had been on his own initiative or because Uther had told him to—and helped her down from her horse. He had called her, "my Lady," and blushed. Then, on the way into the castle, he had pulled one of her braids, she had shoved him into a wall in return, and they had gotten into the first of countless arguments. She smiled. "Yes. For Arthur."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The mid-summer sun beat down on the practice field, sending bright splinters of light glancing off the swords and armor of the knights. Sweat matted Arthur's hair to his forehead under his helmet, and his muscles ached. He'd been out here for hours, just as he had yesterday and the day before that, too.

"Would you care to rest for awhile, my Lord?" Sir Bors asked in a respectful, yet hopeful tone.

"No," Arthur snapped. He raised his sword. "Your footwork was sloppy. And keep your shield raised! It won't do you any good dragging on the ground."

Sir Bors only lasted a few minutes before collapsing onto the grass under one of Arthur's blows. Arthur half suspected he was faking the groaning but didn't say anything when a servant helped Sir Bors off the field. The other knights suddenly became engaged in re-buckling armor or sharpening their swords. Arthur scowled and went and stood in a shaded corner of the wall. He jerked off his helmet and leaned back against the cool stones.

"I brought you some water," a voice said, and Arthur looked down to see Gwen standing next to him.

He accepted the cup with a nod of thanks. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be helping Morgana?"

Gwen shrugged. "She's with Brisen." She lowered her voice, even though no one was near them. "I can't help too much with magic."

Arthur finished off the water and handed the cup back to Gwen. He started to put his helmet on again, but Gwen laid her hand on his arm. "I don't believe it," she said softly. "What Brisen said about Merlin."

"He didn't have any reasons to stay around here and plenty to get as far from Camelot as he can," Arthur retorted in a harsh tone.

"That's not true. Merlin wouldn't leave you, Arthur."

"Brisen doesn't have any reason to lie."

"No, but perhaps Merlin didn't tell her what he really meant to do."

"He's gone, Guinevere." Arthur shook off her hand.

"But—"

Whatever Gwen had been going to say was cut short as a servant came rushing up to them. "Your Highness," he cried. "You must come quickly. It's the King."

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Uther's face was pale and sweaty. Warm coverlets had been placed over him, but he still shivered. Arthur stood by the bedside, staring down at his father. He had never seen Uther looking so…fragile. "What's wrong with him, Gaius?"

Gaius was bending over the table, busily crushing some herbs together. He frowned. "I am not sure yet, Sire. I must conduct tests and observe him for awhile before making a diagnosis."

"But it isn't serious?"

"As I said, Sire, it will take some time before I am sure what ails the King."

"You will let me know immediately if you discover something."

"Of course, Sire."

Arthur ordered one of the servants to attend Gaius, give him whatever help he required. He went out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. "You will let no one except Gaius enter without my permission," he told the guards stationed there.

"Yes, my Lord."

Arthur nodded, and then walked swiftly down the corridor. As soon as he turned the corner, though, he stopped. No one was in sight. He let out a shuddering breath and shut his eyes. Was this it? Was his father—he forced himself to finish the thought—was his father going to die?

"No. He can't," he whispered. First his mother, then Merlin, and now his father. Was everyone who cared about him going to be taken away? He could already feel the huge emptiness of the throne room swallowing him up, the weight of the crown pressing into his forehead.

Unbidden, Guinevere's face came into his mind, her eyes trusting—trusting him to do the right thing. The faces of his knights, striving to do their best for Camelot, for him. The faces of the people he passed in the street every day that depended on him, who would look to him to rule Camelot.

Arthur took a deep breath and straightened up. He would not let his people down. Even if he had to do this alone. He would not fail Camelot.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Two long days passed slowly by, and Uther's condition worsened. The courtiers spoke in hushed voices while the servants tried to make the least amount of noise possible as they went about their duties. Arthur alternated between sitting at his father's side, making multiple trips to Gaius to see if he had found a cure, and standing at the window in his room, alone, staring out at Camelot.

On the afternoon of the third day after Uther had fallen ill, he woke up in the chair next to his father's bed, neck sore, from an unintended nap. He had hardly slept at all the past two nights and must have dozed off. Arthur watched his father anxiously. Uther had stopped muttering and tossing around fitfully—now he just lay there, silent, motionless. His chest lifted in a slight breath, and Arthur sighed in relief.

He extricated himself from the chair and opened the door. "Has Gaius stopped by recently?" he asked one of the guards. He wouldn't put it past Gaius to have come and slipped quietly away again, letting him sleep.

"No, your Highness," the guard replied. "The Lady Morgana came by, but I told her that only Gaius was allowed in."

Arthur frowned. Gaius should have been by to check on Uther. Perhaps he had found something—was working on a cure. "You may let the Lady Morgana in to see the King if she returns," he said over his shoulder as he started off towards Gaius's chambers. Morgana should be allowed to see Uther—just in case he—. No. Arthur stopped that thought. Gaius would heal the King. His father wouldn't die.

"Gaius?" Arthur asked, sticking his head round the door. "Have you found something?"

Gaius was stirring a potion, looking haggard. He'd probably gotten even less sleep than Arthur had.

"Do you know what's wrong with the King?" Arthur repeated, coming over to peer into the cauldron.

Gaius sighed. "I'm sorry, your Highness. I'm afraid I do not."

Arthur shook his head. "Gaius, this must be similar to _some _ailment you have seen over the years. No one else has fallen ill, so it can't be a plague."

"Sire, judging by your father's symptoms, my first instinct was to say that he had been poisoned. But I have found no trace of any poison. And all the remedies I have administered, which should have had some effect, have done nothing. The only other logical conclusion—" Gaius hesitated.

"Yes?" Arthur said impatiently.

"Magic," Gaius said in a reluctant tone. "Some type of magical poison has been administered to him that is undetectable and incurable by the methods at my disposal. But I do not see how it would be possible," he went on. "It could only be administered by someone who could get close to Uther. But there are no new servants, no strangers have come to Camelot recently. I suppose a sorcerer could have disguised himself…"

Gaius continued talking, but Arthur had ceased to listen. Magical poison. Someone close to Uther. It was suddenly difficult to breathe, his chest tight with apprehension. She wouldn't have. _Then maybe he shouldn't be king anymore_. Morgana's words came back to him, the cold look on her face. And he had told the guards to let her into his father's room.

He sprinted to the door, ignoring Gaius's questioning shout. He took the stairs two at a time, practically ran over a servant in the hallway. The guards jumped hastily aside when they saw him, and Arthur burst into Uther's chambers.

Morgana was sitting by the bed, a cup in her hand. She rose quickly to her feet.

"Get away from him!" Arthur cried, hand going to his sword.

"Arthur—what is this?" Morgana asked, sounding alarmed.

"What are you doing with that?" Arthur nodded at the cup she was still holding.

"I was just going to give him a drink of water." Morgana laughed shakily. "Why?"

"Just water?"

A split second of hesitation. "Of course."

Arthur crossed the floor between them in two steps and knocked the cup from her hands. Morgana shrank away. "What are you doing?"

"Empty your belt pouch," Arthur ordered. "Now."

"You can't treat me like this!" Morgana exclaimed. "I don't take orders from you!"

"You will do as I say."

Morgana's eyes flashed. "Are you accusing me of something? If you are, say it to my face!"

"Very well." Arthur drew his sword, although his hand shook from the anger coursing through him. "I accuse you of treason and attempted murder."

"How dare you call me a traitor," Morgana hissed, narrowing her eyes. "I would never do anything to harm this kingdom!"

"Show me what is in your pouch," Arthur repeated.

Morgana tore it away from her belt and tossed it on the table. "There. Now lower your sword. Unless you mean to use it."

Arthur stared at her for a few moments, and then reached for the pouch. He opened it one-handed, keeping his sword leveled at Morgana. The contents rattled onto the table—a few coins and a small vial filled with a clear liquid. Arthur picked it up. "What is this?"

Morgana did not reply.

"Shall I add lying to the list of charges?"

Morgana drew herself up and stepped forward until the tip of the sword was almost touching her chest. Arthur lowered it a fraction. Morgana gestured at the vial. "Poison—as you guessed."

He had suspected it, but—to have her actually say it—

"My Lord?' It was one of the guards, calling through the closed door. "Is everything all right?"

Arthur gripped Morgana's arm. "You are coming with me." She struggled, but he dragged her out of the room. "Fetch Gaius. Tell him to attend to the King immediately," he ordered the guard.

He took Morgana to his chambers, locking the door behind them. She shook free of his grasp. "I could have stopped you, Arthur. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm helpless!"

"Morgana—" He wanted to scream at her, demand if she was crazy, what she was thinking to have forced him into this situation. Taking a deep breath, he walked a few steps away from her. He gripped the sides of his chair, knuckles turning white. "How could you do this?" he whispered.

Morgana's proud demeanor crumbled a little, and she reached out a hand. "I did it for you, Arthur."

"For me? What are you talking about?"

"The least Uther would have done was disinherit you, if you kept disobeying him. You _must _become king, Arthur. And why not now? Why let Camelot suffer anymore under Uther?"

"Camelot is not suffering!"

"No?" Morgana raised an eyebrow. "What about you, Arthur? If Merlin dared to come back, Uther would have him tied to a stake and burnt. He'd do the same thing to me if he found out about my powers."

"That wouldn't happen! And don't bring up Merlin!" Arthur shook his head. "Merlin would never have done something like this—he was ready to die rather than hurt anyone."

"Then he was a fool!" Morgana took a step forward. "Arthur, can't you see that it is time you became king? And I will help you! With my powers—"

Arthur cut her off. "My father is a good king. He brought peace to this land."

"At what cost? Peace through terror is hardly an improvement."

"Morgana, how could you do this to him? He thinks of you as his daughter!"

"Only because he doesn't know what I truly am." She waved an impatient hand. "And you—Uther has hardly treated you as a son. He sends you off to do his dirty work, arresting innocent peasants, like Gwen's father. He didn't have the courage to do so himself. And when you stand up to him, he has you punished."

"If anyone is a coward here it's you—stooping to murder, using poison."

Morgana laughed. "A coward? I would have run Uther through with his own sword in the Great Hall, in front of the entire court! But then you would have had no choice but to send me to the executioner."

"And what makes you think I won't anyway?" Arthur said, voice cold.

"Because together we can make Camelot a great kingdom once again. I've said it before, Arthur—you are a better man than your father. You will be a just and merciful king, and I will employ my magic to help you."

"No."

"Arthur—"

"No," he repeated. "You are going to leave Camelot, Morgana. You are going to leave and never return."

Tears sprang into Morgana's eyes. "Arthur—you cannot mean this! You need my help."

"If anyone will use magic to help me when I am king, that person will be Merlin."

"Merlin." Morgana scrubbed a furious hand over her face, dashing away the tears. "Of course, how could I forget him? Your precious warlock."

"I trust him."

"You trust _him_? You trust him and not me?" Morgana was suddenly in front of him, shoving him in the chest. Arthur stumbled back and had his sword out again a second later. They stood there, breathing hard and staring at each other.

"You will leave here," Arthur said at last. "And if I ever see you again…you will not escape so lightly."

Morgana reached out and touched the sword with the tip of her finger. "I could kill you this instant, Arthur Pendragon," she whispered.

"Do it, then. If you're going to."

For a second, he thought she would. Then her stare faltered, and she backed away, stumbling around the table and reaching blindly for the door. "You have chosen that worthless, cruel man who cares nothing for you over me when I have only ever wanted the best for you," she said in a choked whisper. "For that betrayal—I will never forgive you." She unlocked the door and opened it and then paused, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Pray you never do see me again."

Arthur let the sword fall to the ground after she had left. He raised a hand to cover his face, feeling the wetness of tears under his fingers.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Brisen knew they had failed the moment Morgana opened the door. She could see it in Morgana's pale face and red-rimmed eyes.

"Uther lives?"

"Yes." Morgana nodded heavily. "Arthur discovered me. He—" she fought back a sob, "He has banished me from the kingdom."

An unfortunate turn of events. Brisen was already impressed with Morgana's powers, despite her headstrong and temperamental manner.

"I didn't tell Arthur about you, of course," Morgana said. "_I _don't betray my friends."

"I am in your debt, my Lady," Brisen murmured.

"I will miss your guidance, though." Morgan's voice trembled. "There is so much I have yet to learn about my magic."

"I would suggest seeking out the druids. They gladly offer help to those in need."

"Yes, perhaps I will." Morgana slowly pulled on her riding gloves. "I must leave. Before Arthur finds the courage to send the guards after me." She hesitated and then added quickly, "Would you please tell Gwen not to worry about me? Tell her that I still consider her my friend and will miss her."

"I would be happy to."

Morgana nodded and then turned abruptly and went out. Brisen came to the door and watched her ride off, hood pulled low over her face despite the warmth of the summer twilight. Brisen then turned her gaze to the castle. Getting Morgana to kill Uther had been her first plan. But there were other people who wanted Uther dead—or would want him dead. She would give it a few days. Allow Uther to recover slightly. Then it would be time to speak to Arthur about his mother.

First, though, there was another conversation she needed to have. She waited until after midnight, when Guinevere had finally stopped crying and fallen asleep, before slipping out of the house. It was a simple matter to cloak herself in shadows and slip soundlessly past the guards at the castle gate. Inside the courtyard she paused. A thousand memories flew unbidden into her mind—Nimueh standing with her on the balcony, teaching her to summon a storm; Uther and Igraine, riding into the courtyard with a clatter, and Uther's hand lingering a second too long for propriety as he helped Igraine down from her horse; the ring of swords as the guards came to arrest her, and she and Nimueh fleeing into the night.

Impatiently, Brisen pushed the memories away. Those days were gone and would never return. It was time to forge a new Camelot—a Camelot that thrived on the strength of magic.

She had not forgotten the way to the dungeons. A quick spell sent the guards to sleep, and she picked up a torch before descending the long tunnel that led to the cavern underneath the castle. At last she emerged onto the ledge that Merlin had described to her, when she encouraged him to speak to her about the dragon. She could tell that he mistrusted the dragon and did not blame him. Brisen had never liked dragons—they were far too intelligent and powerful for her comfort. But she must use the tools at her disposal.

She didn't say anything, merely waited. After a few minutes of silence, there was suddenly a rattle of chain, the rush of wings through the air, and the dragon settled down in front of her.

"It has been a long time since you were in Camelot," the dragon said. "Brisen—wasn't that your name?"

"Yes. I'm surprised you remember me."

"How could I forget Nimueh's brightest pupil?" The dragon's eyes reflected the torchlight, glowing like coals. "She brought you to see me once—when I was free."

"Before she helped Uther capture you."

"Yes," the dragon hissed.

"Uther thought you posed a threat to the kingdom, and Nimueh agreed. She never did like anyone holding more power than she did."

A small tongue of flame curled from the dragon's mouth. "I did not intend to harm Uther or his kingdom. But now—" His tail twitched.

"To do anything you must first be free. I offer you that chance."

"You?" The dragon lowered his head to regard her more closely.

"I intend to see Uther dead and his son on the throne—with me at his side. If you swear that you will not harm Camelot but will use your powers to aid us, I will see to it that you are set free."

"The warlock, Merlin, will help Arthur achieve the throne—not you. Do not make promises you cannot keep."

"Is this something you have foreseen?" Brisen laughed. "A magical being such as yourself should know how tenuous such visions are. The smallest thing—a word here, a glance there—can cause them to change. Merlin is unlikely to return to Camelot anytime soon. I have seen to that."

The dragon did not reply, and Brisen thought he seemed uncertain.

"And even if Merlin did somehow escape and return, what makes you think he would set you free? I've heard the way he talks about you. He thinks you betrayed him—used him for your own ends."

The dragon snarled, a low rumbling noise deep in its throat. "What if Arthur rejects your counsel?"

"Then the Pendragon line will end. I will become the next ruler of Camelot." Brisen smiled. "Forgive me—I should have said _we _will become the next rulers of Camelot."

A long silent moment passed. "Very well," the dragon said at last. "If you set me free, I will help you achieve whatever ends you desire."

Brisen nodded and turned to go. "You will see me again soon."

"I had better," the dragon said and launched himself into the air, disappearing into the shadowed depths of the cavern.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

_I have to find a way to get free. _Merlin clung desperately to consciousness. He had surfaced from yet another nightmare, yet another twisted reality in which Arthur hated him, rejected him because of his magic. Every time, it was harder to break loose. With every vision, he found it harder to remember what had truly happened, to remember that Arthur loved him.

He tried reaching for his magic again, but it still eluded his grasp. There had to be a way to break the spell. He couldn't fail Arthur.

What if he could reach his magic during one of the nightmares? The nightmares always began as events had unfolded in reality. Merlin cast the same spells, said the same things. They only went wrong after that. He hadn't yet been able to feel his magic during one of the nightmares, but perhaps if he did something differently—if he cast a spell when he hadn't in reality. In all the nightmares he had never attempted another spell because—

Dread filled him. He had never attempted another spell in the nightmares because it would have meant hurting Arthur. And that was one thing Brisen knew he would never do.

But he would have to, if that were the only way to break free. _It wouldn't be real_, he told himself. _You wouldn't actually have to hurt him. _But the nightmares always felt so terribly vivid. He didn't know if he could maintain enough awareness to do something that went against every particle of his being.

_You have to do it. _

Praying that this worked, Merlin let himself go, drifting back to the nightmares that awaited him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The morning air was sharp and cold. The new snow blanketed the forest, turning bushes into white mounds and giving each tree branch a fluffy covering. Merlin floundered along beside Arthur. He could still feel Arthur's hands on his skin, hear the way Arthur gasped his name. Lost in the memories, he inadvertently stumbled into a tree and received a shower of snow down his neck. Arthur chuckled, and Merlin swatted him on the arm. "Shut up. It's your fault I can't walk straight."

Arthur smirked at Merlin, although he blushed a little, too. "Keep up," he called to the three knights behind them, each with their crossbows at the ready.

_This isn't really happening. _

Merlin shook his head. Not really happening? They were out hunting. He remembered it perfectly—

Remembered. Remembered the arrows coming out of the trees ahead of them.

_You have to break free._

And suddenly it was happening again. The arrows were speeding towards Arthur and the knights, and Merlin cast the spell without thought, and then they were standing in the clearing, breathing hard, and Sir Bors was accusing him of being a sorcerer and demanding that Arthur arrest him.

"Arthur—I would never hurt Camelot," Merlin found himself saying, in the same desperate tone that he had used. "I wouldn't hurt anyone!"

Arthur raised his sword and pointed it at Merlin. "Will you come quietly?"

And Merlin knew what he had to do. In reality, he had done nothing, because casting a spell would have completely shattered Arthur's trust in him. But now—

_You must break the spell. Arthur needs you._

"No." Merlin took a deep breath. His eyes flashed, and the knights hurtled through the air, hit the ground, and lay still. "No, I will not come quietly."

He almost broke then, because Arthur's face crumbled and filled with fear and hurt. And then Arthur was lifting his sword, and Merlin cast another spell, and the sword began to burn in Arthur's hands. Arthur dropped it with a cry.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry." Merlin couldn't stop himself from saying it. He felt dizzy. The world was tilting, the trees flickering in and out of existence. But Arthur was coming at him again, and the words ripped out of him. Arthur flew towards the tree—he was going to crash into it; the impact would break his neck—

Merlin's eyes snapped open. His breath came in shaky gasps. It was pitch black, but he knew where he was—inside the cave where Brisen had trapped him. He could feel the stone underneath him, digging into his back.

Slowly, he moved a hand. He rolled over onto his stomach and managed to push himself onto his hands and knees. Hardly daring to hope, he reached for his magic. It rushed through him, warm and familiar, and Merlin sobbed in relief. He felt horribly weak, though. Whatever spell Brisen had cast had kept him alive but little more. He managed to make a ball of light appear, hovering in the air in front of him. The light was faint, and Merlin didn't know how long he could keep it going.

Staggering to his feet, he looked around the cave. It wasn't large—perhaps ten feet across, and he had to stoop a little to avoid smacking his head on the ceiling. There was no sign of any exit. He could feel a slight, cold breeze on his face, though, and after searching around for a bit, he discovered a thin crack in the wall. It was barely wide enough for air to enter—he wouldn't even be able to fit a finger into it. Brisen must have sealed off whatever entrance had existed.

The light wavered, and Merlin let it wink out of existence. He would have to blast his way out of here, break through the walls of the cave with magic. He didn't know if he had the strength. He slid back down to the floor. The air was becoming uncomfortably close and hot. Breaking the spell that had imprisoned him must have also ended the enchantments that kept the cave livable. Sweat rolled down his face, and it was getting difficult to breathe.

Merlin's eyes drifted shut. He was so tired—if he could just rest. With an effort, he forced himself to stand up again. If he fell asleep now, he would never wake up.

Reaching deep down within himself, he readied his magic. He wasn't quite sure what would happen. Blasting through the wall might bring the entire cave down on top of him. But he couldn't think of anything else and time was running out.

The magic built within him until it almost hurt. When he couldn't summon any more, he let it loose. The magic burst from him, and he shouted the words of the spell.

There was a tremendous roar and huge clouds of dust billowed into the air. Merlin's eyes were shut tightly, but he felt rocks hurtling past him. Some of them clipped him, and he dropped to his knees, covering his head with his arms. It only took a few seconds, although it seemed to take much longer, before the noise stopped. Then a sudden silence fell, broken only by a few last stones tumbling to the ground.

Cautiously, Merlin opened his eyes. The bright light of daylight flooded over his face, and he threw up a hand, eyes watering. Coughing, he looked around.

His spell had completely shattered the side of the hill where the cave had been. Rocks were strewn about, mingled with broken tree branches. Quite a few of the rocks looked as though it wouldn't take much to set them rolling again. Merlin dragged himself a few yards away, a little deeper into the trees, before collapsing again. He rolled onto his back, breathing deeply. He had never felt so drained. At least a half-dozen cuts and scrapes decorated his arms and legs from where shards of rock had hit him. A few were quite deep and bleeding, but he couldn't summon the energy to do anything about it.

The trees above him were clothed in deep green leaves, and the air around him was warm and soft. It had been early spring when Brisen had trapped him. Clearly weeks had gone by—at least, Merlin hoped it was only a few weeks and this wasn't a summer years later. He had no idea how much time had passed. But however long it had been was too long.

The vision he had seen in the scrying glass came back to him—Arthur, lying on the floor bleeding with Brisen standing over him. Merlin struggled to his knees. He had to get back to Arthur. But it would take him days to reach Camelot without a horse, and he didn't think he could walk ten yards, much less tens of miles.

Perhaps—perhaps he could manage the transformation spell. If he could turn himself into a bird, he would be able to get to Camelot swiftly, skimming over the hills and rivers and rough roads below. Just the thought of attempting another spell pulled a groan out of him. Besides, he had never once performed the spell successfully, despite trying multiple times after Brisen had shown him how. If he hadn't been able to do it then, how could he manage it now?

It didn't matter how—he had to do it. He couldn't fail Arthur. For a few moments he knelt there, gathering the magic again. This time it really did hurt, his body screaming in protest. Merlin cast the spell. Nothing happened.

Gritting his teeth, Merlin tried again. The magic felt slippery, uncontrollable, burning against him. He tried to ignore the pain, tried instead to think of Arthur. The magic flared.

The ground was suddenly receding rapidly below him. Merlin let out a startled noise and frantically tried to avoid crashing into a tree. He rose jerkily above the treetops, wings tilting this way and that. It felt—incredibly strange, and he wasn't sure that he liked flying _at all. _

After a few minutes, though, he started to get the feel for it—catching the air currents, knowing when to glide and when to flap his wings. He got his bearings—the distant mountains to the east, the position of the sun—and started towards Camelot, flying as fast as he could.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

His father had improved enough to sit up in bed, although he still looked too pale to Arthur. His temper was the same as always, however, and Uther spent his time snapping orders, irritated at having been ill and being confined to his bed.

Arthur hadn't told him about Morgana. He didn't think he ever would. He knew his father had loved Morgana and to learn of her treason—Arthur couldn't do that to him. He would have to come up with some story, some lie to explain why Morgana had left Camelot. The only person he had told the truth to was Guinevere.

She was with him now, clearing away the dinner dishes. Not that he had felt like eating much. Gwen had taken over numerous duties from his usual servant over the past few days. She talked quietly and smiled at him. Arthur appreciated it, knowing that he still had Gwen's friendship and support. The pain of Morgana's betrayal still hurt deeply, though. He wanted—no, needed Merlin. Needed Merlin's kisses, needed to look into Merlin's eyes and see Merlin's confidence and trust in him. Needed to know he hadn't lost Merlin forever.

There was a knock on the door, and Gwen went to open it. She gasped. "Brisen! It's dangerous for you to be in the castle."

"I need to speak to Arthur," Brisen said, and Arthur turned towards her, frowning.

"Come in, then," he said.

"Thank you, your Highness." Brisen hesitated. "Would you mind leaving us, Guinevere? The matter I have to discuss with the Prince is a private one."

"Of course," Gwen said, although she looked puzzled. She left, closing the door behind her.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, feeling puzzled himself. He couldn't imagine what Brisen would have to say to him. In fact he was surprised she was still here. He had expected her to leave now that Morgana—now that Morgana was gone.

"May I sit down, my Lord?" Brisen asked, and Arthur gestured for her to do so. Brisen settled into a chair with a sigh, pushing back the hood of her cloak. "I have debated long over whether to speak to you about this, but I feel I cannot remain silent. I must tell you the truth before I leave Camelot."

"The truth? About what?"

"About your mother."

"My mother? But—" Arthur paused, remembering. "You said that I reminded you of her. Were you one of her servants or something?"

Brisen's eyes flashed a little at that, but she smiled. "No. I was her friend—one of her closest friends. The rough clothes I wear now have fooled you, perhaps, but I once held a position high in Uther's court."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said awkwardly. "I didn't know."

"Of course not. How could you? I can see that your father has told you little of those days. Which is why I feel I must speak to you."

"What is this about?" Arthur demanded, beginning to feel uneasy. It was true that Uther rarely spoke about Igraine, hardly ever said her name in fact. Arthur knew that she had died in childbirth and had always felt vaguely guilty, a though it were somehow his fault. So he had never pressed his father to tell him about Igraine, even though he had often longed to know more about her.

"I think Igraine would have wanted you to know," Brisen said slowly. She took a deep breath. "Igraine was barren, couldn't conceive a child."

"But—I mean—" Arthur gestured, "well, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are." Brisen looked at him for a few moments, and then continued. "There was another woman at court—her name was Nimueh. I doubt your father has mentioned her, either. She was a powerful sorceress—much more powerful than I am. She was Uther's advisor and a friend to your mother as well."

"My father had a _sorceress _as his advisor?"

Brisen nodded. "Igraine and Uther went to Nimueh and begged her to help them conceive a son. Nimueh agreed."

"No, I can't believe that my father would use magic. Not when he hates it so much!"

"He hates magic now," Brisen corrected. "He did not then—not yet, anyway. Nimueh invoked a powerful and ancient magic, and Igraine became pregnant. But all such magic comes at a price. If a life is created, another must be taken in its place."

"Are you saying—" Arthur felt like the world was sliding out from under him. "Are you saying that the magic took my mother's life in return?"

Brisen inclined her head.

"And my father—he—he knew that would happen?" Arthur finished in a whisper.

"No. But when it did, he blamed Nimueh, even though it was not her fault. She did not know that Igraine would die, either. But Uther blamed magic for the death of his wife. And since then he has extracted a terrible revenge on any who use the magic that claimed Igraine's life."

Arthur suddenly found that he was standing. He could hardly make sense of it—magic, his mother, the fact that somehow _he _had been created by magic—it all tumbled about senselessly in his mind. But he did understand one thing clearly. His father had known all this—and never told him.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Arthur didn't say anything, just walked out of the room. One hand was gripping the sword at his side. Brisen smiled. She waited a few seconds and then followed, slipping soundlessly after him as he walked swiftly towards Uther's chambers.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Arthur shoved the guard out of the way and banged open the door. His father looked up, startled. "Arthur, what—"

"How dare you keep this from me!" Arthur shouted. "She was my _mother_ and you never told me!"

Uther tried to say something, but Arthur cut him off. "I know the truth. About that sorceress, Nimueh, and the spell. I know why—_how _I was born. And why mother died." His throat was tight; he had to force the words out. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Arthur—" his father began and then stopped.

"You say you hate magic. You've always told me that magic was evil. And yet you've used magic yourself!"

Uther closed his eyes. "Only because I did not understand—did not know what terrible things it could do."

Hatred surged in Arthur. Before he knew it, he had drawn his sword, was pointing it at his father. "And do those terrible things include me?" he asked, voice shaking. "All my life, I have tried to be a good son, tried to make you proud of me. I've stood by and let you kill people, let you destroy people's lives because they used magic!" His voice turned bitter. "I'm surprised you didn't have me killed as well."

Uther looked from the sword to Arthur. "Arthur—you are my only son, all that I have left of Igraine."

"All this time," Arthur said, and his voice cracked brokenly, "All this time I have felt like it was my fault that mother died. You let me believe that it was my fault!"

Uther dropped his eyes. "I never intended that. I just—just couldn't admit what I had done to her. What that witch had done to her." He buried his head in his hands.

Arthur stood there, staring down at him. He felt as though everything he had believed, all the foundations of his world, had been shattered. He had been raised to see magic as wrong. To find out that he was so intimately connected to it…

And yet—he grasped the thought frantically—Merlin was as deeply connected to magic as he was. When he had first found out about Merlin's magic, he had thought that it changed things. But then he had realized that the magic didn't matter—that he loved Merlin just as much. And so magic didn't have to change him, either. He was still the same person. And Uther was still his father. _You mean more to me than anything I know. More than this entire kingdom, and certainly more than my own life. _

Arthur sheathed the sword. Slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed. "Father?"

Uther raised his head, tears staining his face. It hurt to see his father like this—weak and sad—when he had always seemed so strong to Arthur.

"I—I'm not sure that I understand or know quite what to believe. But I don't think mother would want to see us fighting each other," he finished softly.

Uther reached out and put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Igraine would have been so proud of you," he whispered. "She was so happy when you were born. She only lived a few hours—and she knew, knew that she wasn't going to live—but every time she looked at you, she smiled." Uther's eyes were far away, remembering. "She kept you close to her, even when the nurse tried to take you away. She wanted every minute, every second—and—" his voice broke, and he fell silent.

Arthur reached up and gripped his father's hand. "Thank you. Thank you for telling me."

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Brisen stood outside the door, hidden from the guards, and listened to the shouts. But then the shouting stopped and soft voices took its place. Fury swirled up in her, and she forced it down. The young Pendragon had decided to be noble. He truly _was _Igraine's son.

She would give him one last chance—for Igraine's sake. If he refused to see reason again—well, it appeared that Merlin's vision in the scrying glass was about to come true. But she was done with pretence, with hiding. It was time to resume the power she had once enjoyed. Time to cast away these rags—like those she had worn as a girl in that cramped peasant hovel—and once again be seen for who she truly was—a powerful sorceress who deserved to stand in the courts of kings.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Arthur shut his father's door quietly behind him. Uther had fallen asleep again, still recovering from the effects of the poison. Arthur felt exhausted, too. Perhaps he'd give in to temptation and collapse onto his bed—even though he had duties to attend to—and try and forget all that had happened. Just for awhile.

When he opened his door, though, a woman was standing in front of the fireplace. It took him a second to realize it was Brisen. She had changed her clothes. A deep red dress, covered in rich embroidery, now graced her figure and a heavy necklace of emeralds hung around her neck. Her demeanor had changed as well—she looked at him as an equal.

"Another Pendragon who has ruined my hopes," she said. "It must run in the family." Something in her voice, in her eyes, made Arthur put his hand on his sword.

Brisen took a few steps towards him. "First your father and now you. Even Morgana, and she was only the King's ward."

"Morgana." Arthur drew his sword. "Did you have something to do with it? Did you make her try and kill the King? Answer me!"

Brisen laughed. "Are you trying to insult me, Arthur Pendragon?" She flicked her hand, and his sword was torn from his grasp, landing with a clatter on the other side of the room. He backed towards the door, but it shut behind him with a bang, and he heard the lock slide into place.

"Be a gentleman and listen to what I have to say," Brisen told him. "As for Morgana, I merely helped her. She needed no encouragement, let me assure you." Brisen sighed. "Your mother was my friend, though, and so I will give you another chance."

"Another chance?" Arthur repeated, edging slowly towards where his sword had fallen.

The sword moved farther away. Brisen smiled mockingly at him. "Since you have failed to kill Uther, I will do it myself," she said.

Arthur started towards her, not sure what he would do, but he wasn't going to just _stand _there. She raised her hand, however, and suddenly he couldn't move. "I asked you to listen to me, your Highness." She smoothed the sleeves of her dress. "You have a choice. I am happy to see you crowned king after Uther is dead. I will serve as your advisor and let me assure you, it would be quite profitable for you and Camelot. I want to see Camelot prosper—to see all the realms united and peace brought to the lands. Together, we can accomplish this."

She circled him. Arthur strained against the spell but could do nothing. She stopped in front of him and trailed a finger down his cheek. "If you refuse my offer, then you will die." She stepped back and ended the spell. "What do you say?"

Arthur glared at her. "I would never join you. And I will not let you leave this room alive."

"So foolish. Just like that young warlock of yours—Merlin."

Fear twisted Arthur's stomach. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing that need concern you. You won't be going off to rescue him—or anyone else, for that matter." Brisen waved her hand casually, like she was shooing away a bothersome fly. Arthur felt the magic pick him up and fling him through the air. He hit the wall, there was a flash of pain, and then nothing.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Brisen started towards Arthur, intending to finish him off, when she felt it—a whisper of magic on the edge of her mind. She stopped. She recognized the feel of that magic—Merlin. He must have escaped her trap and now was coming to Camelot. For the first time, uncertainty and even fear shook her confidence. It had taken all her power to subdue him. If she met him again, now that he knew her true intentions… She hesitated a second longer and then dashed to the door. She must get to the dragon before Merlin arrived.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Merlin labored through the air, struggling to keep flying, to keep the spell intact. If he lost control now and turned back into a human, he would plummet to his death. Time had blurred into an endless misery of pain and exhaustion. He kept his mind on one thought, one goal—Arthur.

At last, the towers of Camelot appeared in the distance. But Merlin could immediately tell that something was wrong. Smoke was rising into the air from numerous places in the town. As he drew nearer and turned slightly to the west, he saw that one of the castle's towers was gone. Just like his vision in the scrying glass. Which meant that Arthur—

Merlin refused to believe it. Arthur _couldn't _be dead. He strained his wings and soared the final distance, fluttering to a shaky stop on a bush outside the castle walls. He let go of the magic and a second later was sprawled half on the ground and half in the bush, clothes caught painfully on the branches. He struggled free and limped around to the front gate.

People were running every which way—some racing up the road from the outlying villages, others dashing out of Camelot. Everyone was shouting and screaming. Merlin grabbed a man who rushed past him. "What happened here?" he demanded.

The man stared blankly at him, eyes wild with fear. "Dragon," he whimpered, trying to pull free. "A dragon. He'll come back."

Merlin let him go. Oh gods. Brisen had set the dragon loose. And he was taking his revenge on Camelot. Merlin pushed past the flood of people. He had to get to the castle.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Sire? Arthur? Please wake up."

Arthur blinked groggily, and Gwen's face swam into focus. He tried to sit up and fell back with a groan. His head felt like it was splitting open, and he could feel blood trickling down his temple.

"Arthur, you must get up. We have to get out of here."

Gwen sounded terrified. "What's going on?" Arthur asked, and then suddenly remembered—"Brisen! She—Gwen, she was going to kill the King." With Gwen's help, he made it to his feet. "Where is my father?"

"I don't know. Arthur—a dragon. There was a dragon."

"A dragon?"

"Yes. I was outside—fetching some water from the well. Suddenly the ground started shaking, and I tried to run back here, but I couldn't stay on my feet. The castle started collapsing." Gwen's voice trembled. "The entire eastern wing just fell in on itself. And out of the ruins came a dragon. It was awful—he swung his tail, and one of the towers just crumbled like sand." She gripped Arthur's arms. "He flew off, but he might return. You can't stay in here."

Arthur couldn't understand half of it—a dragon? Somehow underneath the castle? But the fear in Gwen's voice was real. He would figure out what had happened later. He felt dizzy and nauseous, but Gwen helped him to start walking, helped him navigate the stairs. Arthur could see the signs of destruction—toppled furniture, shattered vases. And he could hear the screams in the distance.

Sir Percival suddenly appeared on the stairs below them. "Your Highness," he cried, "thank the gods you're safe!"

"The King—where is he?"

"I don't know, Sire. He was preparing a sortie against the dragon, but he ordered me and a few others to return to the castle to try and save those we could." Sir Percival took Arthur's other arm. "You must hurry, Sire."

When they reached the courtyard, Arthur could only stare numbly in shock at the ruined half of the castle. No one else was there, though—no one alive, at least. A few crumpled bodies lay on the ground. "We have to find the King, gather the guard," Arthur said.

"You're wounded, Sire," Sir Percival protested, but Arthur pressed forward.

A haze of acrid smoke filled the deserted streets. They kept glancing warily at the sky, but it remained empty. Arthur's steps were faltering, but he ignored the pleas of Gwen and Percival to stop and rest for a moment. Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of them, partially hidden by the smoke. Arthur groped uselessly for the sword that he didn't have.

The figure took a few steps closer to them, and then paused. A trick of the wind drew the smoke away, leaving the air suddenly clear.

"Merlin," Arthur said in a choked gasp.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Merlin crossed the space between them faster than thought. Arthur was bleeding, clutching unsteadily to Gwen, but he was alive. "Arthur," Merlin whispered. He reached out an unsteady hand. There was a swirl of emotions in Arthur's face that he couldn't interpret, and he hesitated, suddenly uncertain.

Arthur caught Merlin's hand in his own and gripped it tightly.

Before Merlin could think of what to say or do next, though, a confused babble of voices broke out behind him. Turning he saw a large crowd, led by several knights but containing guardsmen and many villagers as well, hurrying down the street. One of them saw Arthur and cried out.

A villager reached them first—a young woman, cheek smudged with soot. She sank to her knees. Then the others arrived, and they were all kneeling, all bowing their heads before Arthur.

"Your Majesty," one of the knights said.

"Long live the King," another said, and soon many people were murmuring the words.

Merlin watched Arthur's face pale, a shadow fill his eyes, as he realized what this meant.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

Someone had covered Uther's body with his cloak. Wounded and dying knights lay in a circle around their King where they had fallen protecting him.

Arthur knelt next to his father, head bowed. Merlin ached to go to him but didn't know—they had never been more in public than prince and servant.

Gwen came up next to him, and Merlin gathered her into a hug.

"Gwen—I'm so glad you're all right," he murmured.

She hugged him back tightly before drawing away, wiping at her eyes. "So many terrible things have happened, Merlin. And Arthur—he has missed you so."

Merlin watched as Arthur stood up, could see him push aside his own sadness and pain. He began giving quiet orders, directing people to put out the fires, gather the wounded, muster what defenses they could. Merlin felt a fierce pride in his Prince—no, his King.

"Merlin?" a voice exclaimed, and Merlin turned to find Gaius staring at him, arms full of bandages. "Merlin, what are you doing here? You look absolutely terrible."

At Gaius's words, Merlin's own pain and exhaustion returned full force. He swayed, just staying upright suddenly a tremendous struggle. "I'm fine," he heard himself saying. Why was he looking up at Gaius? He tried to push away Gaius's hands. "I have to—Arthur—"

"Arthur is all right," Gaius said. "Drink this, Merlin."

Merlin resisted weakly, but Gaius forced it down his throat. At last Merlin gave up the struggle and surrendered, sinking into a blessedly dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Merlin drifted slowly awake. He was wrapped in a blanket and lying on something soft. Opening his eyes, it took him a moment to realize he was staring up at the ceiling of a tent, moonlit shadows moving across it. He sat up—or tried to. Groaning, he fell back onto the pillow. Every muscle in his body ached. Flying did _not _agree with him.

"Merlin? Are you awake?" Gwen bent over him, looking concerned.

"Where—what's going on?" Merlin asked. A sudden thought jerked him upright, ignoring his body's protests. "Where's Arthur?"

Gwen smiled. "Over there," she said quietly, nodding at a second pile of blankets and pillows. The top of Arthur's head was just visible over a quilt. "He refused to rest—would hardly stay still a moment to let Gaius clean and bind his wound. Finally Gaius got him to take a sleeping draught—after threatening to have Sir Percival knock him out if he didn't."

"Stubborn idiot," Merlin muttered, trying not to smile fondly.

"Gaius cleaned up your injuries as well. What happened, Merlin?"

"Brisen had trapped me." His face flushed with anger at the memory. "Gods, I was so stupid! Never suspected what she really meant to do. I blasted my way out of the cave she had imprisoned me in. And then I—flew here."

"Flew?" Gwen raised her eyebrows.

"I turned myself into a bird. Not as much fun as you might think," he added. "My arms feel like they're about to fall off."

A smile tugged at Gwen's mouth. "Well this might help—Gaius left it for you." She handed him a potion, and Merlin quickly swallowed it.

Wiping his mouth and grimacing, Merlin handed the empty vial back. "I take it, from the fact that we're still here, that the dragon hasn't been back."

Gwen shivered and sat down on the ground next to him. "No. A little past midnight, one of the guards thought he saw something flying over, but other than that, there's been no sign."

"How bad is the damage?"

"Fewer people were hurt or killed than we thought at first. Mostly they were just panicked and frightened. But many homes were burnt, and of course the castle is practically in ruins." She put her hand on his arm. "Merlin—you'll be able to stop them, won't you? The dragon and Brisen? You and Arthur?"

Merlin managed a smile. "Gwen—Arthur is the greatest warrior in the kingdom. And I happen to be a powerful sorcerer, despite appearances. Everything will be fine."

Gwen smiled back. "Of course. I wasn't doubting you. Or Arthur. But—well, it _is _a dragon."

It was indeed. Merlin tried not to let the worry show in his eyes. In truth, he was not certain at all that everything would be fine. Brisen had beaten him once before, and he had never experienced the dragon's true powers. There was no point in making Gwen any more afraid than she already was, though. "Where's Morgana?" Merlin asked, realizing he hadn't seen her yet.

Gwen paled, and she lowered her eyes.

"What is it?" Merlin leaned forward, studying Gwen's face. "She—nothing's happened to her, has it?"

"Oh, Merlin," Gwen said, tears spilling down her face. "It was so awful."

She told him what had happened, holding his hand tightly. Merlin listened in growing horror. He had thought that Morgana had made her peace with Uther. Guilt rose in him as Gwen described how frightened and lonely Morgana had felt. He should have told her about her magic earlier—shouldn't have let her face it alone. She had been the perfect victim for Brisen. "And Arthur was the one who stopped her?"

"Yes. He hasn't said her name once since then."

Merlin glanced over at Arthur. "I should have been here—for both of them."

Gwen sighed. "It was her choice, Merlin. No matter what Brisen might have said to her, Morgana was the one who acted on it." She twisted her dress in her hands. "Maybe—maybe she'll be able to come back some day. Although I doubt that Arthur would ever trust her again."

Merlin took Gwen's hands in his. "You should get some rest, Gwen. I'll watch after Arthur."

Gwen nodded and stood to go. "I'm glad you're back, Merlin," she said before ducking out of the tent.

Merlin stayed where he was for a few minutes after she had left and then rose and walked over to Arthur. Slowly, he lowered himself down until he was sitting on the edge of Arthur's blankets, knees pulled against his chest. He tried to be as still as possible, not wanting to wake him, but at last he couldn't hold back his fingers and reached out to touch Arthur's shoulder. He felt warm and solid. Arthur muttered and shifted a bit in his sleep. Merlin snatched his hand back.

A deep silence had fallen. It must be around one or two in the morning, and only the guards Arthur had posted remained awake. Merlin fought off the temptation to lie down beside Arthur and go back to sleep himself. But he didn't know if Arthur would still want him to—they hadn't had a chance to say more than two words to each other. Besides, Brisen and the dragon were still out there. Merlin rested his head on his arms and wracked his brain, thinking over every spell he had ever read. But none of them seemed remotely strong enough to harm the dragon. He had managed to block the dragon's fire once, but actually trying to kill the dragon was a completely different problem. Not to mention that he would have Brisen to deal with as well.

Merlin raised his head and looked at Arthur. He would have to leave before Arthur woke up—try and find the dragon and Brisen before they returned. Arthur would insist on coming along if he didn't, and Merlin couldn't let him. Arthur would be helpless—chain mail couldn't protect him against magic. His sword would be useless—

Merlin caught his breath. He knew then—knew what they would have to do. It was their only chance. But—he reached out again and smoothed Arthur's hair back from his forehead. "I'm supposed to protect you," he whispered. There was no guarantee that they would succeed. And if they didn't—they would both die. Merlin shut his eyes once more, burying his head in his arms. Perhaps it had to be like this—both of them, together.

The night hours slipped slowly away. Merlin wished he could call them back, hold off the morning. Wished he could just stay here by Arthur.

"Merlin?"

His whispered name jerked Merlin's head up. Arthur was looking at him in sleepy puzzlement.

"You're awake," Merlin said and immediately felt idiotic and useless. _Obviously _Arthur was awake.

Arthur lifted a hand to the bandage wrapped around his head and winced. "Gods, my head hurts." He swallowed hard. "It wasn't a dream, was it? My father…"

"I'm sorry."

Arthur shut his eyes tightly. "Merlin," he said again, and Merlin could hear the longing, the unspoken question.

Merlin didn't speak, just bent over and brushed his lips against Arthur's. He started to draw back, but Arthur snaked an arm around his neck and drew Merlin into a harder kiss. His other arm went around Merlin's waist. Merlin gave in and let himself be pulled down against Arthur. Arthur held him tightly, mouth hot and desperate, as though he were trying to tell Merlin everything that he couldn't find the words for.

Rational thought fled. Merlin slid his hands under Arthur's tunic, but Arthur grabbed his arms, stopping him. "The dragon," Arthur said in a muffled voice. "Merlin—we have to be ready. Let me up."

Merlin groaned and pressed his face into Arthur's chest. "Prat. A royal prat."

"Yes, I think you've mentioned that before," Arthur said, sounding amused. He slid his arms over Merlin's back to hold him more gently and pressed another kiss on top of Merlin's head. Then he sighed. "But there is a dragon—and a sorceress—that could return at any time." He paused and shifted around so that he could see Merlin's face. "I don't suppose there's some spell…?"

Merlin looked away. "I think I could take Brisen, but not both of them at once. And the dragon—he's far more powerful than I am."

Arthur tightened his arms. "No matter. My knights and I—"

Merlin cut him off. "No. I know what we have to do. There is a chance of defeating them." He took a deep breath. "Do you remember when the wraith tried to kill you but Uther took your place?" Arthur nodded. "The only reason he was able to kill the wraith was because he was using a sword that I had made for you. An extremely powerful sword, burnished by dragon fire."

"This same dragon?"

Merlin nodded. "It's a rather long story."

"I imagine so. Later—you can tell me later." He ran a hand through Merlin's hair.

Merlin's throat felt tight, and he had to swallow a few times before he could speak again. "The sword—if it could kill the undead, I think it might be able to kill a dragon."

"Then I'll fight the dragon, and you'll be free to handle Brisen."

Arthur sounded confident, but Merlin felt the tension in his body. "Yes," Merlin made himself say. "But there's a problem," he added.

"Of course. Wouldn't want this to be _easy_, would we?"

Merlin poked Arthur, who huffed but kept his mouth shut. "The problem is that the dragon made me get rid of the sword. Uther wasn't supposed to use it, only you. So I went and threw it in a lake."

"You threw it in a lake," Arthur repeated. "You threw a _metal _sword in a lake."

"It's a magic sword," Merlin muttered. "It won't rust."

"Let's hope not. And where is this lake?"

"About an hour's ride from here."

"Then we can't waste any time. I'll pick a few of my best knights to come with us in case we run into the dragon or Brisen." He started to get up, but Merlin stopped him.

"I think we have to do this alone."

Arthur frowned. "Look, I know they won't be able to do anything against Brisen, but a few extra swords against the dragon can't hurt."

"No." Merlin pushed himself off Arthur, sitting up so he could look Arthur in the eyes. He could feel the certainty, the knowledge, that no one else could accompany them. "It's hard to explain, but—this is our destiny. It wouldn't make any difference if we took the entire army with us. It would still come down to you and me at the end. And we'll either succeed or…"

Arthur studied him for a few more moments and then nodded.

Merlin got quickly to his feet, turning away so Arthur wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. It meant—everything to him. This proof that Arthur trusted him, listened to him.

Behind him, he heard the clinking sound of Arthur's armor. Arthur had started buckling it on himself. Merlin crossed over to help him.

"You don't have to," Arthur said awkwardly.

Merlin leaned closer so that his mouth was right next to Arthur's ear. "Dressing you, Sire, was a task I actually enjoyed," he whispered.

"Ah." Arthur cleared his throat. "Carry on, then."

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

The sky was growing lighter when they slipped out of the tent, only a few stars still shining faintly. Merlin whispered a spell to distract the guards so they could get to the horses. He could feel Arthur staring at him. It was going to take awhile for Arthur to grow comfortable with his magic but that was all right. In fact, Merlin could think of quite a few ways to show Arthur just how fantastic magic could be.

At first, they rode silently. Merlin led the way, urging his horse to a faster trot whenever they came to an open meadow, then slowing once again to pick their way through the denser forest.

"I have to tell you something," Arthur said suddenly, and Merlin twisted in the saddle to look at him. "It's about—about Morgana."

"Gwen already told me," Merlin said quickly.

"Oh." Arthur fell silent again, staring down at the reins he held in his hands.

Merlin dropped back to ride alongside him.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

When they reached the lake, the sun was just cresting the tops of the trees. Merlin climbed down from his horse and went to the shore, looking out over the water. Arthur came and stood next to him.

"Is this truly my destiny?" Arthur asked softly.

"Our destiny," Merlin replied. He reached out and grasped Arthur's shoulder. "Don't be afraid."

"Never," Arthur said, although his voice shook.

"I'll be here for you—always."

Arthur smiled. Then he sighed and glanced back the way they had come. "I knew it would happen one day of course. That my father would die, and I would become king. But now that it's here, I don't know if I can—if I can—"

"Arthur, _I _know that you can be a great king—a king that your people will be proud of."

"Thank you," Arthur said quietly. "For everything."

"Well." Merlin cleared his throat. "I'll get the sword, then, shall I?" He held out his hand and cast the spell.

The sword broke the surface of the water, shining in the sunlight. Merlin brought it to the shore, stopping it so that it hovered, hilt down, in front of Arthur. Slowly, Arthur reached out and took it, curling his fingers around the hilt. "It's magnificent."

"It's called Excalibur." The words came unbidden from his lips, but they felt right.

Arthur tried a few practice swings and parries. Then he unsheathed his old sword and put Excalibur in its place. "Let's do this," he said to Merlin.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

They planned to ride in a wide circle around Camelot, as Merlin claimed he would be able to sense the dragon and Brisen when they drew close. Arthur kept glancing over at him. It felt…right. To have Merlin by his side again.

"I actually have a competent manservant now," he said aloud. "One who cleans my chambers without having to be reminded three times."

"I was competent," Merlin retorted, indignant.

"You were hopeless. Although not at _everything_, I suppose. To be fair."

"Like saving your life every other day?"

"Well, yes, although not exactly what I had in mind."

Merlin's glare slipped, and he grinned at Arthur. "I told you I was a fast learner."

"Indeed. Although now you've probably forgotten it all. I'll have to remind you."

"I await your Majesty's convenience," Merlin replied, laughter edging the words.

Arthur was about to ask him if he knew that his eyes turned golden when he did magic—it had startled Arthur but at the same time made him want to have that golden glow directed towards _him_—when Merlin gasped and drew his horse to an abrupt halt.

Arthur followed the direction of Merlin's gaze. Brisen was standing under the trees in front of them. Arthur's hand went to Excalibur—not that it would do him any good. Brisen ignored him, however, and focused on Merlin.

"I underestimated you, Merlin," she said. "I will not make the same mistake twice."

"Nor will I." Merlin's voice was low but furious.

Brisen turned her attention to Arthur. "My condolences, your Majesty. I understand your father is dead."

"Because you killed him!" Anger drove away everything else for a moment, and Arthur started to move forward. A hard pressure on his arm stopped him.

"Not yet," Merlin said, gripping Arthur's arm. "Is there a point to this?" he demanded of Brisen. "If so, you'd best get to it quickly."

Brisen inclined her head. "Very well. None of us wish for further harm to come to Camelot or its people. You may not believe me, but I did not intend for such widespread destruction to occur. But the dragon—I could not control him."

"I don't believe it," Arthur said flatly.

Brisen gave him a cold smile. "Neither of you will live to see the end of this day, but I do not want our battle to take place in Camelot. One of you, at least, will not be easy to kill."

It took Arthur a second to realize she meant Merlin and not him. He wasn't used to thinking of Merlin as being remotely dangerous. "Where, then?"

"You know the large meadow to the east of the city?"

"I do."

"Be there in an hour. We will be waiting," Brisen said and vanished.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

"Remember, whatever happens, don't let go of the shield. The spell I've placed on it will keep the dragon's fire from reaching you."

"I _know_, Merlin. This is at least the fifth time you've told me."

Arthur could feel Merlin's anxious eyes on him. He didn't want to turn and look at him, though. If he did, he didn't think he could stop himself from ordering Merlin to leave, to go somewhere safe. Merlin wouldn't, of course. But Arthur wanted him to. He was used to putting himself in danger, had been prepared to give his life for Camelot many times. He wasn't prepared to give up Merlin's life.

"There's no sign of them," Merlin whispered, peering out from behind the trees. They were on the edge of the meadow, standing on a slight wooded rise. "But I can feel their power," he added.

Arthur drew Excalibur. "We can't hide here all day," he said and moved forward into the open.

Merlin scrambled after him. "Would you warn me first, the next time you decide to—Get down!"

Arthur dropped to the ground at Merlin's cry. A rush of air, and the dragon's talons passed through the space where he had been standing. Arthur struggled back to his feet. The dragon circled and dived back down towards them. Brisen was riding on its back.

Arthur threw up the shield. Flames roared from the dragon's mouth. He could feel their heat, but they stopped, a few feet from him, hitting an invisible barrier. The dragon roared in frustration and swept past them again.

"I take it back," Arthur gasped. "You're competent. Very competent."

The dragon alone would have been terrifying enough, but then Brisen began casting spells. The ground turned to quicksand under their feet, and they were sinking, but Merlin shouted and the sand turned to grass once again. A host of spears came hurtling down at them. Merlin's eyes flashed, and the spears turned into a shower of raindrops. A great wind began to rise, but Merlin held out his hand and the air grew calm and quiet.

Meanwhile, the dragon kept diving at them, breathing fire. "Dammit, Merlin!" Arthur cried, ducking another swipe of the dragon's claws. "I can't do anything with it up in the air. We have to bring it down somehow."

Sweat was pouring down Merlin's face, but he nodded. "Cover me," he said and crouched down while Arthur held the shield up over both of them. The dragon started in at a lower angle this time, and Arthur was just beginning to wonder nervously if the shield would stop dragon _teeth _as well as fire, when Merlin stood up again. Arthur wasn't sure if it was his imagination or if he really could feel the magic radiating off Merlin, like sparks.

Merlin stretched his fingers towards the dragon. There was a crackling noise, and then lightning bolts suddenly shot out, arcing through the sky. Some of them stopped, presumably hitting a similar shield that Brisen had conjured, but one of them got through. It pierced the dragon's wing. He shrieked and tumbled to the ground.

They were suddenly trying to avoid being trampled by a wounded dragon. Arthur grabbed Merlin and jerked him backwards. They both tripped, sprawling to the ground. The dragon came to a stop, its hurt wing dragging behind it. For the moment, it stayed still.

Arthur looked around frantically but could see no sign of Brisen. He struggled up and then pulled Merlin, who was gasping for breath, to his feet as well. Arthur was warily eyeing the dragon, debating whether to try a sudden attack or not, when a bird fluttered to the ground in front of him.

He never even saw Merlin move. One second, he was off to one side; the next, he was standing in front of Arthur and the bird. The bird that had suddenly become Brisen. Who was sending a ball of crackling blue fire hurtling towards them. Merlin flung up his hand, and the fire changed direction. Brisen barely got out of the way in time, crying out in pain as the edges scorched her left side.

"Give me one of your daggers, Arthur," Merlin said, not taking his eyes off Brisen, who was clutching her arm and staring at Merlin, pain and fury in her eyes.

Arthur handed Merlin a dagger. Merlin held it up and then let go. The dagger hovered in the air for a second and then sped point first towards Brisen's heart. It stopped a bare inch from its goal, trembling in the air.

Brisen was shaking, her eyes fixed on the dagger. "You will not kill me, Merlin. We are alike, you and I." The dagger jerked a hairsbreadth closer. "I can teach you spells—secrets that you have never even imagined." Her voice was frantic now. "You can become the most powerful warlock ever. All the kingdoms will kneel before your feet."

"That is your dream, not mine." Merlin's voice was strained. "And your dream has ended." The dagger plunged into her heart. Brisen's eyes widened, and she stumbled forward, then fell to the ground and did not move again.

Merlin staggered, and Arthur was there, holding him up. "You all right?"

Merlin nodded, although his face was pale. "Just a little tired."

Arthur looked down at Brisen's body. "Well, now I know that it won't work to tempt you with offers of unimaginable power the next time I want you to do something."

Merlin smiled, although he looked slightly puzzled, too. "I've only ever wanted to serve you, Arthur. Haven't you figured that out, yet?"

And Arthur found himself blushing and unable to think of anything to say in reply because Merlin's loyalty to him was a gift beyond price, and he wasn't sure that he deserved it.

"I told her that you would be the one to put the young Pendragon on the throne," a voice said, jerking Arthur's thoughts back with unpleasant abruptness. They turned to find the dragon staring down at them.

"And yet you helped her," Merlin said, mouth set in an angry line. "You killed the King."

"A most enjoyable moment," the dragon replied, smoke curling from its nostrils. "If a bit too quick. Ideally, Uther would have suffered as long as I did, chained as I was in that miserable cavern."

Merlin took a step forward. "I know you now. Know you for the selfish, lying, cruel monster that you are."

The dragon gave a rumbling laugh. "I _am _a dragon, young warlock. But now your destiny is achieved. The young Pendragon will take up the crown and unite the land of Albion."

"And you will not live to see it."

The dragon's eyes narrowed. "Have a care, Merlin," he hissed. "You have wounded me, but I am willing to let that go. I suggest you and the young King leave while you can."

"No," Arthur said. "You murdered my father. I will avenge his death."

"And I will not let you stay free to kill and terrorize the people of this kingdom," Merlin added.

"You are powerful," the dragon said, "but not that powerful. My magic is like the sun, and yours, a small candle flame. Do not test me, Merlin."

Merlin didn't reply, just stepped forward and raised his hand. Whatever spell he had been going to cast, though, turned into a cry of pain. He stumbled to his knees, clutching his head in his hands.

"What is he doing?" Arthur shook Merlin's shoulder. "Merlin, what's happening?"

Merlin's eyes were squeezed shut. "It hurts," he said in a pained whimper. "I can't—can't stop him."

Arthur didn't think, he just charged the dragon, Excalibur whirling in his hand. The dragon turned his gaze from Merlin for a few seconds—long enough to swipe his talons at Arthur and send him crashing to the ground. One of the dragon's claws sheared through Arthur's chainmail like butter, scoring a burning gash in his thigh.

"Arthur!" Merlin struggled to his feet.

"No, Merlin!" Arthur yelled at him, but Merlin ran forward. He sent another lightning bolt shooting at the dragon, but the dragon consumed it in the fire of his breath, and then swung his spiked tail towards Merlin. It caught Merlin across the chest and flung him backwards. Merlin hit the ground and rolled to a halt. He didn't move.

A howl of rage and grief tore from Arthur's throat. He moved fast, darting in until he was under the dragon's legs. He swung Excalibur, and it drew a bloody gash across the dragon's chest. The dragon snarled and rose up on its hind legs, towering over Arthur. "What magic is this?" the dragon cried. "The weapon has not been forged that can hurt me!"

Arthur held the sword straight before him. "This is Excalibur. You made it. And now it will be your undoing."

The dragon roared and opened its fanged jaws wide, preparing to unleash its fiery breath. Arthur summoned every ounce of strength he possessed, lifted Excalibur over his head, and drove it into the dragon's soft underbelly. Hot blood gushed over his hands as he pulled the sword back out. The dragon let out a terrible cry and came crashing down.

Arthur flung himself to the side. His wounded leg collapsed under him, but he dragged himself further away as the dragon thrashed on the ground in its death throes. At last, with a final shudder, it lay still. Silence descended over the meadow. A silence that filled Arthur with dread at what it might mean.

He half ran, half stumbled over to Merlin's crumpled form. Falling to his knees, he turned Merlin over gently. "Merlin?" he whispered. Merlin's eyes were closed, and his shirt was soaked with blood. Arthur lifted it with trembling fingers. A deep wound ran across Merlin's stomach and chest where the dragon's tail had ripped into him. Feverishly, Arthur tore Merlin's shirt off and pressed it to the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. "You can't die, Merlin. You promised. You promised you wouldn't leave me." His vision blurred with tears, and he wiped them angrily away. He needed to get Merlin back to Camelot, to Gaius.

He lifted Merlin as carefully as he could. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, he staggered towards the trees, praying that the horses were still there and hadn't managed to break free during the fight. One of them had escaped—Merlin's; he never _could _tie a decent knot. But Arthur's was still there, although he shied away nervously as they approached.

Arthur stopped and laid Merlin back on the ground. "Merlin, you have to wake up. I can't get you up on that horse alone. Come on, Merlin." He shook him as hard as he dared.

Merlin's eyes fluttered open, and he moaned in pain. Arthur resisted the urge to bury his head in Merlin's neck and weep with relief. He lifted Merlin in his arms again. "We have to get you back to Camelot. Just get your leg over the saddle and hang on while I climb up behind you."

"Arthur…I can't. Hurts…hurts too much."

"You _can _Merlin and you _will_. I order you to. I'm your King, and I order you to do this. I am not going to let you die on me."

"Arrogant…prat," Merlin murmured weakly. "All right. I'll try. Lift me up."

A shuddering cry escaped Merlin as Arthur shoved him up into the saddle. He almost slid off again, but Arthur held him there. "Hang on, Merlin. Just for a second." Merlin's hands curled into the horse's mane. Arthur swiftly untied the horse, and then hoisted himself into the saddle. He wrapped his arms securely around Merlin and kicked the horse into a gallop.

Every step jarred a whimper of agony from Merlin. He finally fainted again, slumping in Arthur's arms. Arthur clutched him tightly. "You are going to live," he said. "Do you hear me, Merlin? Who else is going to tell me when I'm being an idiot? Who else is going to deliberately irritate and annoy me?" He fought to take a breath against the tightness in his chest. "Who else is going to love me like you do?"

It seemed to take forever, but at last Arthur saw the castle walls in the distance. When he barreled into the encampment that had been set up outside the city, he was immediately surrounded by his knights, demanding to know where he had been, if he was all right. "Find Gaius!" Arthur shouted, sawing on the reins and pulling the horse to a halt. He tried to dismount and ended up on his back in the mud when his leg gave out, Merlin sprawled on top of him.

"Sire! Are you hurt? What is it?" Gaius was pushing his way through the crowd.

"Not me, dammit, it's Merlin! Gaius, you have to help him quickly!"

Gaius's face paled as he examined Merlin more closely. "You there!" Gaius barked, pointing to one of the knights. "And you! Pick him up and follow me. I need to get him inside." The knights hastened forward and took Merlin from Arthur's arms. "Carefully now," Gaius cautioned. Then they moved off, and the crowd pressed forward again, blocking Merlin from Arthur's view.

Sir Leon was questioning Arthur again, but he couldn't reply, couldn't seem to do anything except stare after Merlin and pray that he had gotten him to Gaius in time.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

The moon was rising over Camelot, shining softly in the warm summer twilight, when Gaius finally let Arthur in to see Merlin. Guinevere had tended to his own injury, and then sat with him as they waited, tense and worried.

"He's asleep," Gaius said softly as they entered the tent.

The blood had been cleaned away, and Merlin's chest wrapped in bandages, but Arthur saw the grim look on Gaius's face and knew that Merlin wasn't out of danger yet.

"He lost a great deal of blood, Sire," Gaius said in reply to the unspoken question. "And if the wound becomes infected…"

"He'll be all right," Arthur said roughly. He pulled a chair over and sat down.

Gwen kissed Merlin's forehead. "I'll be right outside if you need anything," she said to Arthur.

"And I will return shortly to check on him," Gaius added, and they went out, whispering quietly to each other.

Arthur took one of Merlin's hands in his own, threading their fingers together. There were a thousand things that he should be doing but they could wait. First he had to know if Merlin—if Merlin—

"Stay with me, Merlin" Arthur whispered. "Stay with me."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Gaius examined Merlin over his spectacles and frowned. "Despite your talents in the realm of magic, Merlin, you have shown absolutely no competence in the area of medicine. Therefore, I trust you will allow me to decide when you are fit to leave your bed."

"I've been lying here for over a week!" Merlin exclaimed. "Besides, Arthur's coronation is tomorrow—I have to be there."

At length, Gaius nodded. "Very well, but only for an hour or two. I expect to see you back here before supper."

"All right, yes, I promise," Merlin said, climbing out of the bed and pulling on his clothes. Raising his arms to put on his tunic did make him wince a little, which he hastily tried to hide from Gaius. He really couldn't stand staying in this room a minute longer.

Not that the room wasn't lovely—magnificent, even. Gaius's chambers had been destroyed, but Arthur had given Merlin rooms of his own in the undamaged portion of the castle. Rooms complete with a canopied bed, a wide fireplace, and tapestries on the walls. The first time Merlin woke up in the room and found himself in the huge bed, he had a panicked moment of thinking he had fallen asleep in _Arthur's_ bed when he was supposed to be cleaning Arthur's armor or shoeing his horse. Then his confusion had cleared, but his panic had increased because the last thing he remembered clearly was Arthur sprawled on the ground, wounded, with the dragon towering over him.

Gaius had opened the door just as Merlin was attempting to extricate himself from the blankets. His legs didn't seem to want to support him, and Merlin ended up in a heap on the stone floor.

"What are you doing, Merlin?" Gaius had exclaimed, hurrying over.

"Arthur—" Merlin had gasped, clinging to the bed and trying to stand.

"Arthur is supervising the rebuilding in the Lower Town, and you are getting right back in that bed before you undo all my hard work." The gentle way in which he had helped Merlin under the covers belied his severe tone.

Slowly, hazy bits of memories had filtered back to Merlin. He recalled Arthur carrying him to the horse, the desperation in Arthur's voice, the blinding pain. He also remembered the dragon's tail smashing into him. Lifting his shirt, he discovered what seemed to be half of Camelot's linen supply covering his stomach and chest. "Ow."

"Yes, that would sum it up nicely," Gaius had said, handing him a potion. "You've been unconscious for three days, and I'm sure you still feel quite weak. But the dragon and Brisen are both dead, Arthur is perfectly fine, and no other dangers are threatening the kingdom. So you will kindly _rest _and recover."

Merlin had meekly acquiesced. Scarcely fifteen minutes later, the door had banged open again, and Arthur had entered, looking flushed and out of breath.

"Did you run all the way up here from the Lower Town?" Merlin had asked, trying to hide a smile.

Arthur had muttered something unintelligible, and then had walked over, taken Merlin's face in his hands, and given him a long and extremely thorough kiss.

Merlin had flopped back on the pillows after, reaching up to tug Arthur down onto the bed. Arthur sat and leaned over Merlin. "If you _ever _do that to me again, Merlin, I'll—I'll—"

"You'll what?"

Arthur settled for kissing him again.

But Arthur had been busy—dealing with repairing the destruction wrought by the dragon, assuming all the duties required of a king, meeting the various delegations from nobles and foreign rulers who had heard of Uther's death and began arriving in Camelot. Gwen and Gaius both had many tasks to see to as well, particularly once Arthur announced that he would hold his coronation in a week, which was when Gaius felt Merlin would be able to get about again.

"We've started rebuilding the castle, of course," Gwen had told Merlin on one of her quick visits, "but the Great Hall is nowhere near ready. So Arthur has decided to hold the ceremony outside the city." Merlin thought that would be perfect. Everyone could come then, not just the few nobles and courtiers who could have fit in the castle.

Merlin had quickly tired of staying in bed doing nothing—enchanting the pillows got boring after an hour. At least he didn't have to worry about getting his head chopped off for it, though. Arthur had already lifted the ban on magic—those who practiced it with the intent to help and heal no longer had anything to fear. Merlin should have been happy—he was happy—and yet…

Merlin tried to blame his anxiety on his new chambers. He had never had such a large space all to himself, and it seemed odd and rather lonely. Arthur did slip quietly in every night, gently tugging Merlin—who was often already asleep—into his arms. But Merlin still felt out of place, as though he were in some stranger's room and would soon be asked to leave and go muck out the stables.

The true problem was that he had never really considered what would happen once Arthur became king. He had been so completely focused on keeping Arthur aliveto get to this point that he hadn't thought about afterwards. Arthur no longer treated Merlin like a servant—Merlin's new quarters signaled quite clearly that he _wasn't _a servant—and yet Merlin wasn't exactly sure what he was instead. How was he going to spend his time now that he didn't have to scrub floors and carry Arthur's breakfast up from the kitchens? Of course, since magic was no longer outlawed, there were many opportunities available to him. But Merlin wanted to stay by Arthur's side. Arthur was king now, though, and maybe that had…changed things. Changed what Arthur could be to him.

Merlin couldn't escape such thoughts while confined to his bed. He was therefore quite glad when Gaius gave him permission to go outside and walk about for awhile. Gwen went with him. Merlin really felt much better, but having a shoulder to lean on now and then wasn't a bad idea. Gwen showed him the platform that was being constructed in the meadow outside the city. Banners bearing the Pendragon insignia and those of the noble houses surrounded it. A corridor of wooden poles, twined about with greenery and flowers, led from the city gates. Arthur would walk along it to the platform where Geoffrey, the members of the court, and selected knights would be waiting. It all looked quite festive, and Merlin couldn't help smiling. This day had been a long time in coming.

He and Gwen sat in the grass for awhile, enjoying the sunshine and watching the preparations. "We'd better get you back," Gwen said at last. "Gaius said before supper, and it's getting late."

When they got back to the castle, Gaius was indeed waiting for them and with him, Merlin was surprised to see, was Merlin's mother.

Hunith rushed forward and hugged him tightly, then immediately began fussing over him, wanting to know how he was feeling.

"I'm fine. Really, I am," Merlin assured her. "But what are you doing here?"

Hunith sniffed, wiping away tears, and busied herself with straightening his coat. "Arthur asked me to come."

"Arthur?"

"Yes. He sent a message, requesting that I come to Camelot for the ceremony tomorrow. Gaius has been telling me about what the two of you did—fighting a dragon and a sorceress. And how you almost died." She hugged him close again.

Merlin gave Gaius an exasperated look over his mother's shoulder. "It wasn't that bad. Gaius is exaggerating."

"Whether I am or not," Gaius said, "this is your first day out of bed, and you don't want to overdo it. You don't want to miss the ceremony tomorrow."

Merlin protested, but quickly surrendered under the combined front of Gaius, Gwen, and his mother. Actually, he did feel a bit tired. He was determined to stay awake to talk to Arthur, though.

Arthur finally climbed into the bed with him around midnight, looking exhausted.

"It's called 'delegating authority,'" Merlin murmured, twisting around so that he could see Arthur.

"What do_ you_ know about being a king?" Arthur replied. His fingers lightly traced the scar on Merlin's stomach, still raw and tender. "Feeling better?"

"_Yes_—as I keep telling everyone. Including my mother. Why did you ask her to come to Camelot? She got completely worried for no reason."

"I thought you'd like to see her."

"Of course I do, but I could have gone to Ealdor. She didn't have to come all this way."

"I think it's important for her to be here," Arthur replied. Before Merlin could ask what he meant by that, Arthur continued, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Yes?"

Arthur didn't reply for a moment. "I wondered if you would hold the crown during the ceremony tomorrow," he said at last. "If you want. You don't have to—I'm not ordering you to or anything."

Merlin put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "It would be an honor."

Arthur smiled and reached up to take Merlin's hand in his. He pulled Merlin closer until they were pressed together. "I heard you were out walking today. I assume that means you're feeling well enough for other things, too."

"I think I could manage," Merlin said and then gasped as Arthur began licking and kissing his way down Merlin's chest. The kisses turned feathery around his scar, then firmer as Arthur proceeded lower. Merlin threaded his fingers in Arthur's hair and held on tightly. Part of him wanted to ask—_Will this change after tomorrow?_—but he couldn't say it, losing himself in Arthur's touch instead.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

The next day burst brightly forth, and the late summer sun shone down on the crowds below. Everyone wore their best feast day attire, and many of the girls had flowers in their hair. Merlin glanced down at Gwen who was standing next to him. She wore a circlet of daisies and blue forget-me-nots.

"Nervous?" she asked.

"_I'm _not the one who has to repeat the vows of kingship in front of all these people and try not to forget anything," Merlin replied.

"It does look like everyone in the kingdom showed up," Gwen said, looking out over the crowd from their vantage point on the platform.

As they stood there, waiting for Arthur, Merlin realized that quite a few of the people in the crowd were staring at him and whispering among themselves. The sight of a sorcerer walking about in broad daylight, not to mention conversing openly with the knights and their new king was a novel experience for most of Camelot's denizens. Merlin fidgeted under their curious gazes and sought out his mother's face in the crowd.

Hunith gave a little wave when she saw Merlin looking at her. Then she turned, along with everyone else, as a sudden peal of trumpets announced Arthur's arrival. Arthur walked slowly out of the city gates. His armor flashed in the sun and one of his hands rested on Excalibur, hanging at his side. As he passed by, the people pressed close on either side, many of them breaking into smiles.

Merlin was smiling, too—in fact, he had a huge grin on his face and knew he must look like a lovesick idiot but couldn't seem to stop. When Arthur reached them, his eyes met Merlin's, and his solemn demeanor broke for a second as he smiled back. Then he knelt down, looking grave once again. He repeated the vows in a firm, clear voice, swearing to protect Camelot, to exercise justice and mercy. Then Geoffrey took the crown from Merlin and placed it on Arthur's head.

"I give you King Arthur Pendragon," Geoffrey proclaimed as Arthur rose to his feet. The crowd burst into cheers and clapping and then began kneeling, bowing their heads before their new king. Merlin started to kneel, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

He looked up into Arthur's face. "No," Arthur said, drawing Merlin back up. He continued in a loud voice so that all could hear, "Without you, Merlin, this day would not have been possible. You have saved this kingdom not once but many times. My people and I are forever in your debt." Arthur urged Merlin forward and then stepped back, so that Merlin stood alone at the front of the platform.

Cheers broke out again. Merlin blushed furiously. His mother had a proud smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Merlin glanced back at Arthur and tried to speak, to tell him how grateful he was. Words seemed to have deserted him for the moment, but Arthur understood.

v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.

The feast carried on well into the night. Arthur was surrounded by visiting nobles eager to profess their allegiance to their new king and by young men anxious for a chance to become a knight of Camelot. Merlin celebrated with Gaius, Gwen, and his mother, contenting himself with frequent glances in Arthur's direction.

As the night went on, though, he felt his good mood ebbing away. At last he excused himself, saying that his injury was paining him, and he thought he would go rest. He started walking up the stairs to his new room but paused. Changing direction, he headed for Arthur's chambers instead, wanting something familiar.

But even though all the furnishings from the heavy chair to the ornate cabinets were just as he remembered them, it felt different. It was strange to be in Arthur's room without being expected to complete some task or wait for Arthur to give him orders. Merlin didn't know what to do with himself. He tried sitting in one of the chairs but felt awkward and finally ended up sitting by the window.

Arthur found him there when he came in perhaps an hour or so later. A servant trailed at Arthur's heels, but Arthur dismissed him. "So this is where you ran off to," Arthur said to Merlin, untying his cape and removing the crown. He set it on the table.

Merlin stared at the crown before dropping his eyes to the floor. "I was feeling a little tired," he muttered.

"At the next feast, Merlin," Arthur said, sitting down to pull off his boots, "you better come up with a few good excuses so we can _both _leave early. Nothing too drastic, as I doubt we'll want half the knights following us up here."

Merlin tried to smile. "I'll work on it."

"You also aren't going to get away with ignoring the nobles next time, either."

"Um, right," Merlin said, wondering why Arthur would want him to talk to the nobles.

"We'll have to get you something decent to wear as well," Arthur went on. "Can't have my Court Sorcerer looking like a peasant."

"Court Sorcerer?" Merlin repeated.

Arthur shrugged and fiddled with one of the buttons on his jacket. "Well, if you come up with a title you like better, let me know."

Happiness spread through Merlin. "Like Official Sorcerer of a Royal Prat?" he asked innocently.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are you ever going to change, Merlin?"

"No. You'd get bored."

They smiled at each other, remembering.

"I'll expect you to advise me on all magical matters," Arthur continued in a more serious tone. "We'll have to put laws in place, dictating exactly what constitutes harmful use of magic. And I don't want you to let half-trained warlocks run around the kingdom. You need to find people who can do magic and teach them enough so that they don't hurt themselves or others unintentionally. And—"

"You're going to make me work just as hard as I did when I was your servant, aren't you?"

"Stop complaining, Merlin. I have to find some way to keep you out of trouble." Arthur shrugged out of his jacket and added, "I've thought of a few other ways as well."

Part of Merlin wanted to strip off Arthur's remaining clothes, tumble him into the bed, and find out exactly what those other ways were. He hesitated, though. "Arthur, now that you're King," he paused and then rushed on, "I understand if you don't want to—if we can't—I mean, if we—"

"Merlin." Arthur stopped him. "Come here."

Merlin came, and Arthur gathered him into his arms. "You're right, I am King now," he said. "But, Merlin—I don't want you to _ever_ leave. I want you to be my advisor," his voice grew softer, "my love, and always—_always _my friend." He kissed him, a lingering kiss that left Merlin breathless when Arthur drew back. "Is that enough for you?" Arthur whispered, his voice teasing, but also a bit questioning, too.

"Enough for always," Merlin replied.

The End

Note: Thank you to all the readers and reviewers who stuck with me through this story!


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